


and who said love was easy?

by soultana



Category: Voltron: Legendary Defender
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Angst, Angst with a Happy Ending, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Fix-It, Fluff, Insecure Lance (Voltron), M/M, Misunderstandings, Mutual Pining, Post Season 7, Slow Burn, lance is low-key an unreliable narrator, lance will get the bisexual arc he deserves, very slight allurance at the start but klance is endgame
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-12-14
Updated: 2019-02-14
Packaged: 2019-09-17 23:38:22
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 3
Words: 24,402
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16983993
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/soultana/pseuds/soultana
Summary: “I don’t know about you,” Lance starts, “but I was pretty shocked. I mean, of all people, Keith likes Griffin?”Hunk stays silent for a long time. “Lance, buddy…I don’t think it’s Griffin that Keith likes.”(In which Lance is confused, gets some relationship advice, misunderstands who Keith's got a crush on, and comes to realise that maybe, possibly, he might be bi)





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> so. I've been planning this fic since season 7 (disappointed me) came out because I thought to myself, s8 is prob not going to give Lance the arc or development he Deserves so I'll have to do it myself. 
> 
> before you read this pls note this fic is really self indulgent so don't be surprised if everyone is ooc (tho I'd like to argue that it's canon for everyone to be ooc which makes it in character so there u go)
> 
> Anyway, pls enjoy!! klance may not be canon in s8 but rest assured I'll make it canon in this fic ;)

Lance sighs for what feels like the hundredth time as he adjusts his uniform, tugging this way and that, smoothing down creases and lines that would make his mother frown and his superior officers scoff. There’s no mirror in this room so he relies on the window instead, squinting to keep the glistening sun out of his eyes as it reflects off his metal bed frame.

 

For an entire week, he’s been cooped up here in this dull, boring hospital room, having nurses and doctors tend to his every need. The great Red Paladin of Voltron, risking his life to save the Earth, a hero who holds the whole entire planet in the palm of his hand.

 

People look at him and they must marvel— _wow, look, a Paladin of Voltron! Oh, how exciting his life must be, how adventurous and handsome and kind he his! How happy he must be!_

 

And honestly…Lance used to have those exact thoughts. The life of a Paladin once felt like a life of fame and grandeur, but now things don’t feel nearly as amazing as they used to.

 

He’s saved the world—the entire _universe—_ with his other fellow Paladins, he’s got great friends, his family is safe, the love of his life _finally_ likes him back—he’s got it all.

 

So, why does he feel so…empty? So lost? So confused?

 

Lance’s tongue pokes out in concentration as he tries to fix the buttons on his cuff. He usually gets Hunk to do it for him, or even Pidge because her fingers are more nimble, but they’re being discharged tomorrow and he doesn’t want to bother them. His hand tenses up when he realises he’s going to have to visit them. And if he goes to visit them, it’ll look really strange if he doesn’t visit Allura as well.

 

His frown deepens and he gives his sleeve a sharp tug before releasing it, giving up entirely. If he’s lucky he’ll see Veronica on his way out and ask (more like beg) her to do it for him.

 

“Lance?”

 

Lance quirks a brow at the voice, focusing on the small, blurry mass of orange he sees beside his own reflection in the window. He swivels around to face the intruder, smile already in place.

 

“Hey, Keith!” He greets, stuffing his hands in his pockets. “What brings you here?”

 

Keith’s uniform looks as impeccable as it always does. He leans cooly on the doorway, just exuding confidence. “I was walking by, wanted to check if everything’s ok.”

 

Lance forces a chuckle, brushes the hair out of his eyes even though his bangs are already tucked behind his ear. _Act natural,_ he tells himself. _Be aloof_. “Of course it’s ok! Why wouldn’t it be?”

 

“You tell me.” Keith steps inside, his footsteps falling lightly on the white-tiled floor. “You seem distracted.”

 

“How can you even tell?” Lance counters. “You just got here five seconds ago.”

 

Keith takes up the spot by the foot of the bed, arms crossed. “You were discharged this morning. Veronica dropped off your clothes but she told me she hasn’t seen you since.”

 

Lance waves a hand. “I’m just getting ready, it’s no big deal. You can’t listen to her anyway, she blows things _way_ out of proportion. Besides,” he pauses here, shoots Keith a sly grin, “it takes time to look this good.”

 

“Oh?” Keith gives him a pointed stare. “So it always takes you five hours to get ready?”

 

“That’s right, it always—wait. Five hours?”

 

Keith nods. “Yep.”

 

“It’s been five hours since Veronica came here? Seriously?”

 

“Don’t you have a watch in here? Or a clock?”

 

“Of course I do!” Lance cries, affronted. He sticks his thumb at the wall behind him, gesturing at the clock hanging on the wall.

 

“It’s stopped. Must be out of batteries.”

 

“O-oh.” Lance deflates immediately, takes to rubbing the back of his neck. “Well, uh…I didn’t realise. Veronica didn’t need me for anything, right?” A burst of panic sets in and he suddenly finds himself on the brink of hysteria. “There wasn’t a meeting or something, right? Oh, man, if I miss another meeting she’ll be so—”

 

“Calm down, Lance,” Keith says. “She was just worried.”

 

Lance rolls his eyes lightly. “Then she should’ve come to check on me herself.”

 

“She was going to, but…” Keith looks away as if there’s an internal debate going on inside his mind. “But…I’m worried about you, too, so I came instead.”

 

The wind is knocked right out of Lance’s lungs, and he suddenly regrets not being seated for this conversation. It’s not every day that someone as stoic and detached as Keith just barges into your room and tells you he’s worried about you. It’s…unexpected.

 

It’s kind of nice.

 

If it were anyone else, Lance might’ve made a joke about it. A quirk of the lips, a teasing quip; it’d all flow so naturally. But this is Keith. Keith, who’s not good with words or comforting people, who drips awkwardness from every pore, who’s squirming and grimacing and (most likely) wishing for the ground to swallow him up and end his suffering the longer Lance stays quiet.

 

“Thanks,” Lance says, smiling. “But I’m fine. No need to worry.”

 

Keith’s shoulders seize up for a moment, the same way they always do when he’s about to say something without thinking it over first. His jaw clenches, words left unsaid weighing heavy on his tongue, before he lets out a huff. “Alright. If you say so.”

 

He stands up a bit straighter, a telltale sign that he’s about to leave. Lance should just let him go, let him get back to his work or whatever it was he was doing before this. But the thing is, Lance doesn’t _want_ to be left here all by himself, where it’s quiet and dull but his thoughts are loud and rampant. He wants someone to just stay and listen to him babble, even if it’s just complete nonsense. It’s asking for too much, but Keith’s listened to him before. Who’s to say he won’t listen again?

 

“I’ve just had a lot on my mind,” Lance continues before Keith can even take a single step toward the door.

 

“About what?”

 

“I…I don’t know…I mean, there’s a lot I’ve been thinking about, it’s just…”

 

“Our last battle? Are you still worried about the Galra?”

 

Lance winces as the guilt twists around in his stomach. He suddenly feels so small and childish, so dumb and immature for worrying about something that isn’t a big deal at all. There are people out there with missing family members, people who have been through living hell with the Galra, yet here he is, the foolish Red Paladin, supposed hero, worrying about _himself_?

 

He suddenly doesn’t have the strength to go on. “Uh…yeah, I guess, but…you know what? It’s ok. I can sort it all out on my own!”

 

Keith narrows his eyes a little. “Really?”

 

“Yep!” Lance cheers with fake bravado. He sidles over to Keith, slings an arm around his shoulder, and starts guiding him out of the room. “Thanks for checking up on me but everything is a-okay!”

 

“Lance, if something’s bothering you, just tell me.”

 

Lance pats him on the back. “Nope, it’s all good. I promise!”

 

“So it’s not about the Galra?” Keith persists.

 

“Look, I told you—”

 

“Is it your family?”

 

“—that I’m fine and I don’t want to—”

 

“Is it about the team? Shiro? Hunk? Pidge?”

 

“—talk about it right now, and it’s really not import—”

 

“…Allura?”

 

All it takes is a single moment of hesitation, a hitch in the breath, a catch in the throat. Lance sighs and steps back while Keith just watches on, expression unreadable.

 

“Look, I told you it’s stupid so just drop it, ok? We have way more important things to worry about.”

 

Keith shakes his head, eyes firm. “If it’s making you worry, then it _is_ important.”

 

“Fine,” Lance finally relents. He throws his hands up in the air, mainly for dramatic effect, before slumping down on the bed. “I guess I’m just a little confused about my relationship with Allura.”

 

Keith folds his arms over his chest. When he speaks his voice is odd; sharp, cold, cautious. “You guys are together now?”

 

“I…think so?” Lance grimaces at Keith’s look of disbelief. “I guess we kind of are, but everything happened so fast, you know?”

 

“If you’re in a relationship with her,” Keith starts, “shouldn’t you be happier?”

 

“That’s the thing!” Lance cries. “I am happy but just…not as happy as I thought I’d be.” He goes quiet for a moment, lets the words fester in the air as he bares his soul to someone who might not want to see it in the first place. It’s weird to be talking about his feelings and problems to Keith; the last time this happened he’d been in a similar state of mind, insecurities flooding his system until it was all he could think about. It’s almost funny, how nothing has changed since then yet somehow _everything_ is different. He’s still the same as he had been that day he’d knocked on Keith’s door, told him he wanted to step down as Paladin. He’s still small and weak, still dumb and insecure.

 

But Keith? Keith is like a man born anew. He’s stronger, confident, with firm set shoulders and a gaze that’s been hardened by the cruelty of time; innocent, ignorant lines turned sharper. Keith stands before him a true leader, as if he were born and bred for nothing else.

 

“Isn’t this what you’ve always wanted?” Keith asks calmly. Lance half expects him to treat this whole thing as a joke, the way Hunk and Pidge always do. Instead, he just plows on with the same type of silent respect he saves for team meetings.

 

“I thought it was,” Lance says quietly. His eyes get a bit unfocused as he stares at a random point at the wall. Keith fades away from clarity, becomes nothing more than an orange mass in his peripheral, until Lance pulls his gaze back. “But I’m just…”

 

“Just…?”

 

Lance groans in frustration. “I mean, what if I’m not good enough for her? Her ex is Lotor. _”_ When Keith just continues to stare, Lance breathes out through his nose, repeating, _“Lotor.”_

 

“Lance, you—you aren’t seriously comparing yourself to Lotor, right?”

 

Lance groans, flopping back on the bed, messing up the sheets he’d spend so long tidying up in the first place. “I know. I’m pathetic. At least Lotor was a prince, even if he did end up being a backstabbing traitor.”

 

“Lance,” Keith says in a tone that’s almost like a hiss, but not quite. He storms over until his face is in Lance’s view. “You seriously think Allura’s going to be comparing you to Lotor? He broke her heart. He broke her trust.”

 

Something snaps inside him, and before he can quell it, bury it back deep down where it belongs, Lance is sitting up, eyes narrowed in a glare. “Yeah, but she still chose him at first, didn’t she? She didn’t know he’d betray her. She thought he was a good guy and she chose _him._ She chose him because he’s smart, and charismatic, and suave—”

 

“You’re all those things, too,” Keith whispers.

 

Lance scoffs but allows a small smile to play on his lips. “Right. Sure.”

 

Keith stares at him for a long time. And then, “Oh.”

 

“Oh?”

 

“I get it now. You’re worried you’re a rebound…Right?”

 

Lance sucks in a breath. Holds it. Sighs. “Yeah,” his voice is gravelly. “Yeah.”

 

“You should talk to her,” Keith says. “Tell her how you feel.”

 

Lance scoffs again. “And ruin what’s probably the best thing that will ever happen to me? Yeah, don’t think so. I’m probably just overreacting.”

 

“Look, I’m not saying that Allura is the type of person to just use you as a rebound—”

 

“Great! So, problem solved, am I right?”

 

“—But,” Keith cuts in sharply, “I do know that Lotor hurt her really badly. She’d never try to hurt you on purpose, but—”

 

“I know,” Lance says. “I get it.” He forces himself to smile, but it just feels wrong. “I’ll talk to her the next time I see her.”

 

Keith blinks a few times as if he hadn’t anticipated for Lance to agree so easily. “Ok. Great.”

 

Lance stands up with a groan, joints cracking as he stretches his arms over his head. “Well, looks like I’ll be avoiding Hunk and Pidge today.”

 

“…What?”

 

“It’s nothing,” Lance says, waving him off. “Anyway, thanks for the advice. Never thought you’d be a relationship expert.”

 

“I’m not.” Keith shrugs. “But uh…it’s no problem.”

 

Lance considers him for a moment, head tilted as he thinks. “So…”

 

“Yeah?”

 

“Is there anyone _you_ like?”

 

Keith balks, his face stiffening to the point where he looks like a carved statue. “No,” he blurts.

 

Lance smirks. “Ok, you answered way too fast for that to be true. Now come on. Tell me who it is.”

 

“I—” Keith opens and closes his mouth a few times. “Uh…”

 

_“Keith.”_

 

“Ok, fine,” Keith says. “It’s someone I’ve known for a while.”

 

Lance hums, a sign for him to go on.

 

“We were kind of…enemies, at first.”

 

At this, Lance’s eyebrows shoot up. “Enemies?”

 

“Yeah.” Keith shifts uncomfortably, scratches the back of his neck. “We didn’t get along. He was hard to approach and saw me as a rival. But, um…I’d say we’re friends now.” A small dust of red blooms on his cheeks, spreading up to his ears.

 

Rivals and now friends, huh? The gears turn in Lance’s mind as he tries to figure out who it is.

 

And then, it all falls into place.

 

“Oh,” Lance says, eyes wide. “Well, if you need any advice, feel free to come to me.”

 

Keith nods slowly, brows pinched. “Sure?”

 

“Thanks for telling me,” Lance says. “I know we’ve never talked about this kind of stuff but…yeah. Thanks.”

 

A strange look falls over Keith’s face. He looks at Lance as if he’s a puzzle to be solved, or a mystery to be uncovered. “No problem. I’m here if you need to talk.”

 

Lance laughs awkwardly, the revelation of Keith’s crush still leaving him a bit shell-shocked. “Ditto.”

  

* * *

 

Lance adjusts his grip on his Bayard, flexing his fingers to get rid of their stiffness. He came to the training room (more like training centre; the Garrison might not be as technologically advanced as the Castle of Lions, but their training equipment is still top-notch) early in the morning, and now it’s well past midday. All around him people mingle, other fellow cadets as well as a few of his superiors. Soon the room will really start to crowd up, and Lance will take that as his cue to leave. Even now the scrutiny is getting to him; he stands out harshly compared to the others, what with his Paladin armour. He feels everyone staring at him, waiting with bated breath for his next move. He could do something as rudimentary as adjust his Bayard or wipe it down, and still people will watch on in awe, fawning over something—over _someone—_ that isn’t really as grand as they think.

 

“Hey, Lance.”

 

Lance looks up and all but swells with joy. “Hunk! Great to see you, my dude!”

 

Hunk strolls over, his own Bayard in hand along with a gym bag over his shoulder. He sets it down carefully and, at Lance’s enquiring look, smiles sheepishly.

 

“Bandages,” he says by way of explanation. “And some ointments and stuff. You know, in case my arm starts to ache.” He rolls his shoulder, wincing when something makes a _pop._

 

Lance frowns. “I know the doctors said you’re better, but do you really think it’s ok for you to be training so soon?”

 

“Lance, please, no more lectures,” Hunk whines. “My parents are giving me enough drama as it is, and _don’t_ even get me started on Shay.”

 

Lance swings his Bayard around his fingers. “At least take it easy for now. It would suck to go back to the hospital on the same day you get discharged.”

 

“I will,” Hunk says, smiling. “I’m just so excited to be out of bed.”

 

Lance nods in agreement. He knows the feeling of restlessness that comes with being bedridden for days at a time. It’s no surprise then that Keith had been the first to be discharged; he’s always been the most active. How the doctors even managed to force him in bed for his short stay is a miracle in itself.

 

Their conversation is interrupted by a shift in the air, the changing wind when you’re out at sea. Lance looks around and sees Keith on the opposite end of the room, swinging his Bayard around a bunch of training dummies. Everyone’s got their eyes on him and Lance finds that he can’t look away either.

 

After a few minutes, Keith finally stops to take a break. He pays no mind to the star-struck cadets around him and, likewise, those cadets scamper away, turning back to their own training as nonchalantly as possible. Only one person is brave enough to approach Keith, and when Lance sees who it is, his eyes bug out in shock.

 

“Oh, is that Keith and Griffin?” Hunk asks, squinting his eyes to get a better view. “We should go over and—Hey! Ow, careful, Lance, you’re pulling on my wounded arm!”

 

“Sorry, sorry,” Lance says hurriedly. He ushers Hunk to a nearby corner, far away from prying eyes (or ears, in this case), dropping his voice to a whisper, “Dude, I gotta tell you something.”

 

“What?” Hunk asks after a beat of silence. “Is something wrong?”

 

Lance shakes his head furiously. “No, but you’ll never believe what I’m about to tell you. Yesterday, Keith told me who he likes.”

 

Hunk nods slowly despite the fact that his face is shrouded in confusion. “You mean who he likes as in…?” He makes a vague gesture with his hand.

 

“I mean who he _like_ likes,” Lance whispers, glancing around to make sure no one around can hear.

 

Eyes widening, Hunk gapes at him. “No way! He finally told you, huh?”

 

“Wha—?” Lance leans back slightly. “Did you already know?”

 

Hunk chuckles. “Dude, pretty much everyone already knew. Except for you.”

 

Lance isn’t really sure why, but…hearing Hunk say that really rubs him the wrong way. Because it’s always like that, isn’t it? He’s always the last one to find out about things; whether they be important mission-related affairs or personal ones, he’s _always_ the last to know. Stupid Lance, foolish Lance, naive Lance—he’s too dumb to figure anything out, huh? Too dumb to be trusted with anything.

 

“Oh…” Lance feels so small again. “How’d you find out? When did he tell you?”

 

“He never told me, but it was pretty obvious,” Hunk says, nodding sagely.

 

_Pretty obvious._ Lance gulps and feels his body prick all over. He takes a deep breath and does what he knows best—smile and act like everything’s ok.

 

“I don’t know about you,” he starts, feeling his usual spunk return, “but I was pretty shocked. I mean, of all people, Keith likes _Griffin_?” He laughs, wipes a tear from his eye. “Keith literally punched him in the face in our first year. Funny how things work out in the end, huh?”

 

Hunk stays silent for a long time. “Lance, buddy…I don’t think it’s Griffin that Keith likes.”

 

“Of course it is!” Lance bristles. “Keith told me himself.”

 

“Really?” Hunk doesn’t seem so convinced. “Were those his exact words?”

 

Lance sighs, exasperated. Gossiping with friends is supposed to be fun; when did it become such a chore? “No, they weren’t, but come on! He said they used to be enemies— _rivals._ Who else could it be other than Griffin?”

 

“Lance, I _really_ think there’s been a misunderstanding because—”

 

“Oh! There you two are!”

 

Hunk pauses at the interruption and swivels around to see who it is. Lance, on the other hand, tenses up.

 

“Hey, Allura,” Hunk greets casually. “How’s it going?”

 

“Very well, thank you,” Allura says, smiling wide. “I’m feeling much better now.”

 

“That’s great,” Hunk says. He nods to himself, glancing at Lance from the corner of his eye. “I’m uh—gonna go talk to Keith for a bit. I’ll catch up with you guys later.”

 

“Hunk—” Lance cries, voice strangled and choked up all at once. It’s too late; Hunk either doesn’t hear or doesn’t care, and disappears into the crowd, making a beeline to where Keith is training. Lance curses internally.

 

“Lance,” she says, almost shy.

 

“Allura,” Lance echoes. He keeps his eyes downcast for the time being, clears his throat. “What’s up?”

 

“I was wondering if you were busy? I was discharged this morning but haven’t had any lunch yet. We could go to the cafeteria together.”

 

Over on the opposite end of the room, Hunk’s finally caught up to Keith, and the two immediately start to talk. Lance hopes that maybe Hunk’ll come back, Keith tagging along, and drag him away to train. Or maybe Veronica is around here somewhere and he could ask to join her in one of the boring meetings she’s always attending—Oh, no wait, then Allura would also want to join, and Lance would be right back at square one—

 

“Lance?”

 

God. She really doesn’t deserve him. No, she deserves someone _so much better._

 

“Sure,” Lance says. He offers her his arm and she takes it with a smile. “Let’s go.”

  

* * *

 

The walk to the cafeteria is far more stress-inducing than it should be; every step gets harder, heavier, and if not for Allura’s arm wrapped around his own, Lance would probably just tumble to the ground.

 

“I was talking to your niece a few days ago,” Allura starts excitedly, “and she told me all about dating culture here on Earth.”

 

“Oh, really?” Lance says absently. He jerks his head down in an awkward nod. “That’s nice.”

 

“We should go on one.”

 

Lance turns his head to face Allura and is a bit taken aback by her flushed expression. “You mean…a date?”

 

“Yes,” she says, voice so soft Lance needs to strain to hear it over the chatty cadets around them.

 

Lance swallows lead and bile and his own burning guilt. It sears down into his stomach, engulfs him entirely.

 

Just a few weeks ago the thought of Allura feeling this way about him would’ve reduced him to tears—tears of laughter, tears of despair, because he _never_ thought it’d happen. Not in a month or a year or in a million years.

 

Being best-friend-Lance was good. It was _enough._ Not everything is always about romantic love, anyway—platonic love is just as good. His feelings may have been unrequited, but somehow he was…happier back then.

 

_So was Allura,_ his vicious mind hisses.

 

_She was happier with Lotor._

 

“Lance?” Allura asks. “Are you alright?”

 

God, Lance is such a coward. “I…yeah, I’m fine.” He slows down ever so slightly, but it takes a moment for Allura to realise. “Listen, we need to talk.”

 

“Talk?” Allura brushes a strand of hair behind her ear and Lance’s fingers _itch_ with the urge to reach up and touch her face, stroke her cheek the way he’s always imagined.

 

He looks over his shoulder. The hallway isn’t the most ideal place for private conversations, but his dorm room is on the other side of the building and by the time they get there he’ll surely chicken out. He needs to do this now, while he’s got half the courage for it, while the blood in his veins is singing the tune of fools.

 

“Yes,” he says, guiding her to the side, closer to the walls. “We need to talk.”

 

Allura smiles and laughs, the sound tinkling in the air like chimes in the wind. “This isn’t like one of those cliche dramas you have here on Earth where the couple break up, is it? I haven’t seen enough of them to be certain, but ‘we need to talk’ seems to be a staple for those situations.”

 

Lance can’t help but wince. “Not exactly?”

 

Allura’s whole demeanour changes; her mouth pulls down into a frown, her forehead creases. Lance hates being the one to make her look like this. He _hates_ it. “What is it?” She asks, full of concern that is unwarranted.

 

“You know how I feel about you,” Lance says.

 

Allura blushes. “Yes…I know.”

 

“And you feel the same way?”

 

“I do.”

 

“And…” It’s not too late. He could back out right now, spew some made-up nonsense the way he used to do as a kid, when he’d forget to wash the dishes or vacuum the living room and somehow managed to talk his way out of it when his mama found out. Back then, nothing was scarier than his mother on a rampage, especially considering that she was always so calm and collected, so full of love. It’s funny how things change; he’d gladly take a scolding or two from his mother than to deal with this. Hell, when she finds out about what he’s about to do, she probably _will._

 

But he has to say it, has to let Allura know how he feels before it’s too late.

 

“And,” Lance starts over, inhaling slowly, “I care about you—about our friendship. Just being your friend is the biggest honour.”

 

Allura’s lips quirk up in an easy smile. “Oh, you flatter me too much.”

 

“No.” Lance shakes his head. “It’s true. You’re always so kind, so caring. You deserve only good things, Allura.”

 

“For someone making such a lovely speech, you seem awfully upset.” She reaches up, touches his shoulder and squeezes it.

 

“I think we should take a break, Allura. Put this” Lance gestures between the two of them “on hold for a while.”

 

Allura immediately draws back, as if Lance were fire and she was the moth that danced too close to the flames. “What?”

 

“We rushed into this,” Lance says, voice rising in pitch ever so slightly. “I think we should take a moment to step back and reassess our feelings. Reassess if this is what’s best for us.”

 

“Why wouldn’t it be?” Allura argues. Her eyes get misty but she still meets Lance’s gaze head-on. “We feel the same way.”

 

“We do,” Lance says softly. “But everything happened so fast. It’s never a good idea to rush into a relationship.”

 

“I don’t—” Allura’s voice hitches and it almost sounds like she’s about to hiccup. “I don’t understand.”

 

“You were really hurt by”—Lance hates saying the name out loud, but he forces it past his lips, tries his best not to make it sound as vile as it feels on his tongue—“Lotor, and you didn’t get much time to heal from that.”

 

“Oh…” Allura wraps her arms around herself, looking too small, too fragile. But Lance knows her well; she is far stronger than she lets on. “I…never gave that a lot of thought.”

 

“Being your friend is really important to me. I’d hate to see us lose our friendship just because we rushed into a relationship we weren’t ready for.”

 

“No, I—I think it’s a good idea.” Allura sighs softly, playing with the cuffs of her sleeve.

 

“You sure? If you’re not comfortable with this—”

 

She shakes her head. “No, I—I am.” Her hands are warm and smooth when she clasps Lance’s own. “Relationships are built on honesty and trust. If you think this is something we should do, then that’s more than enough reason to try it out.”

 

And just like that, all the pent-up fear and stress leaves Lance in an instant. His heart stops hammering like a beast against his ribcage, his hands stop feeling clammy and shaky. He smiles in relief. “Thank you.”

 

Despite the slight tension buzzing in the air, Allura laughs lightly. “There’s no need to thank me. We’re in this together, right?”

 

Lance hums. “Exactly.”

 

* * *

 

Lance pouts as he swipes through the menu screen on his tablet, perturbed at the lack of fun games to play. He groans and lets his head droop down until his cheek comes in contact with the smooth table beneath. He purposefully avoids what looks like a dried splotch of soda, lips curling in disgust at the sight of it.

 

“Working hard?” A smooth voice asks, tone playful.

 

Lance jolts so sharply his knee twitches and collides with one of the table legs. As the pain ebbs he looks up to see Keith standing next to him, holding a lunch tray, a teasing grin plastered on his face. Keith regards him for a moments before his eyes drift over to Lance’s tablet.

 

Lance sits up hurriedly and swipes at the screen to get it into sleep mode. “More like hardly working,” he answers, sheepish.

 

Keith stands there for a moment, clears his throat. “You mind if I sit here?”

 

Lance scoots over even though there is more than enough room for Keith. “Be my guest.”

 

Keith sets his tray down with an unnecessary amount of poise. Just before he takes his seat, he scans around the cafeteria, as if looking for someone. When he’s done he turns to Lance, eyebrows furrowed as if confused. “Why are you sitting all by yourself?”

 

Lance blinks up at him a few times before the words finally process. He takes his own quick scan of the area even though he knows already that Pidge is seated at the far table in the corner eating lunch with her whole family, while Hunk is on the opposite end with Shay and Romelle. An amused grin plays on Lance’s lips; Keith doesn’t know that this is the new normal.

 

Once upon a time, Lance was the glue that held the group together. He was the centre, the one who held enough of a connection with everyone that it made it easy to smooth things over, made it easy to carry the conversation when the others dropped it.

 

Once upon a time, Lance was important. He was _needed._ But then Keith left and took with him their budding friendship, left behind a weird emptiness Lance didn’t know would affect him as badly as it did. And then everything changed because Lance just…didn’t fit in with anyone anymore. Not with Hunk and Pidge, the geniuses of the group, who’d spend days on end tinkering away with their projects. Not with Allura, who found Lotor’s company better than Lance’s. Not with their untouchable leader, Shiro.

 

Keith was gone for so long that he missed the gradual shift in their team dynamics. Lance wonders, briefly, if Keith can feel just how different everything is now. Wonders if he misses the way it was before he left like Lance does every single day.

 

“No reason,” Lance says with a shrug. He traces the edge of his tablet just to give himself something to do. “Didn’t want to disturb the others.”

 

If Keith seems suspicious of Lance’s response, he makes no further argument. Instead he finally sits down and starts to eat, twirling his fork around to pick up some spaghetti before shoving it into his mouth.

 

Lance doesn’t even realise it, but he starts to smile. With Keith here like this, it finally feels like a semblance of the old team Voltron is back.

 

“What?” Keith blurts suddenly, frowning.

 

“Huh?”

 

“You look amused. Is there something on my face?”

 

There isn’t, but Lance is not one to pass up on such a rare opportunity. “Yep. Right here.” He points to his chin.

 

Keith wipes at his chin with his sleeve, scrubbing at a stain that isn’t even there with a lot more force than required. “Now?”

 

Lance smiles sweetly. “All gone.”

 

Keith goes back to eating while Lance just sits there, tapping out a rhythm on the table. He’s coining up some brilliant conversation starters in his mind when Keith (surprisingly) beats him to it.

 

“Did you talk to Allura?”

 

Lance never pictured Keith as someone who’d be interested in other people’s love affairs, but he supposes that you can never judge too quickly.

 

“Yeah,” Lance says cautiously. “I talked to her yesterday.”

 

Keith nods slowly and takes a gulp of water. “How did it go?”

 

Lance shrugs, slouching over the table, propping his head up with his hand. “Better than I thought. I’m just hoping things won’t get too awkward between us.” He shudders at the memory of bumping into her this morning.

 

“I think you’ll be fine,” Keith says. “You guys were friends before you started to… _date._ So, um—Yeah. You’ll be fine.”

 

“I hope so,” Lance sighs.

 

He goes back to looking at his tablet when the pocket of silence between him and Keith is burst by two very firm, very familiar voices.

 

“I will never get accustomed to Earth food,” Kolivan grumbles, plopping down opposite Lance.

 

“It will take time for you to adjust,” Krolia says sagely. She takes the seat to Kolivan’s left, leaving her facing Keith. “Even I had some trouble when I first came here.”

 

“Hm,” Kolivan says, unimpressed, as he picks up his grilled sandwich. He eyes it wearily and seems especially disturbed by the stringy, melted cheese hanging from the sides.

 

“Boys,” Krolia says, nodding at Lance and Keith. “I hope you don’t mind our intrusion.”

 

“It’s fine.” Keith’s answer comes with a small smile. It’s a private smile, conveying something Lance can’t really understand; something he isn’t really a part of.

 

Conversation simpers down to a minimum. For once Keith does most of the talking, asking Krolia about her day, agreeing when she suggests they train together, nodding along to Kolivan’s offhanded comments. The three of them don’t even _need_ words to talk; even during moments of silence or lulls in the conversation, they can all somehow understand each other, condensing words and sentences down into a nod of the head or a quirk of the lips.

 

Lance doesn’t belong here. He’s so out of place. He sits there, silent, trying to think of something to say or do. His stomach burns and burns even though he’s hardly eaten anything, and the longer he stays the worse he feels.

 

“Uh…I’m not really sure. Lance, what do you think?”

 

The mention of his name startles him enough for the thoughts to quell. “Huh?”

 

Keith gives him a weird look and points toward Krolia and Kolivan. “They were wondering if there are any good restaurants near here? But I don’t—I don’t know any, so…”

 

“Oh…” Lance feels a bit weird to have everyone’s undivided attention. “Um…depends on what you like to eat, I guess. Besides, a lot of the places I liked to go to are being repaired right now. You know, what with the Galra invasion and all.”

 

Krolia takes a bite of her own sandwich and chews thoughtfully. “Oh, yes. We’re well aware of that. But there was one restaurant in particular I was fond of when I first came here to Earth. I was wondering if you might know it.”

 

Lance shrugs. “Maybe. If it’s near the Garrison, I’ve probably been there.” He chuckles and leans forward, dropping his voice down to a whisper. “I used to sneak out a lot with Hunk."

 

“I can’t remember the name of the restaurant, but they served the best—What is it called, the circular food made of dough?”

 

“Donuts?” Keith supplies.

 

“No,” Krolia says. Her forehead creases as she thinks. “No, it’s not sweet.”

 

“…Pizza?”

 

“Yes, that’s what it was.” She pauses and looks over at Kolivan, who eats his sandwich with disdain. “I do not think you’d enjoy it.”

 

Kolivan frowns. “No, I probably wouldn’t.”

 

“There are a lot of pizza places around here, so unless you remember the name I don’t know which one it is,” Lance says.

 

“I see. That is understandable.” Krolia takes another bite of her food.

 

“But I could show you around one day, when they’re all rebuilt. We’ll hunt it down in no time.”

 

Krolia pauses, blinking slowly. She turns to Lance and considers him for a moment. “That…would be nice. I’m very fond of that restaurant.”

 

“Was the food that good?” Keith asks, slurping up a long piece of spaghetti.

 

“It wasn’t just the food. It was the atmosphere. Even though I’m not human, whenever I went there with your father, I felt like I belonged.”

 

Hearing this, Lance’s mind starts to whirl. It feels as if he’s been woken up after a long slumber and is only now seeing the world in full clarity. Because it’s been so long since he felt like he belonged anywhere, and now more than ever he’s grown out of touch with people he once considered friends. But—

 

But right now, as Krolia continues to talk about her favourite restaurant and the warm memories stemming from it, Lance doesn’t feel like he’s intruding. Maybe because he can relate in some way. Maybe because Keith keeps glancing at him from the corner of his eyes whenever she says something funny. Maybe because the disgust on Kolivan’s face is directed at his plate of food and nothing else.

 

Maybe it’s ok for Lance to stay with them for a while longer.

 

* * *

 

 Inhale. Exhale.

 

Focus.

 

Take aim.

 

_Fire._

 

Lance sighs as he rises from his crouched position, rolling his shoulders and neck to get the blood flowing.

 

“Nice shot.” Kinkade’s voice is a deep albeit muffled rumble.

 

As Lance steps down from the shooting range, Kinkade steps forward to take his place, arms moving fluidly as he takes position.

 

“Thanks,” Lance says, taking his helmet off. He waits for a moment, watches as Kinkade hits the targets with startling accuracy, and smirks. “You’re not so bad yourself.”

 

Kinkade hums, continues to shoot. Lance takes the moment to collect himself and walks over to his water bottle. He picks it up but pauses when he catches sight of a flurry of red and black.

 

It’s none other than Keith, engaged in a rather one-sided sparring match with one of the Garrison bots. Apparently, they’re a recent addition to the Garrison’s training regime; back when Lance first joined, he’d heard rumours of such bots being developed but never thought the Garrison would get around to implementing them. To see them in action is a surreal feeling; if he’d never become a Paladin, these new training bots would’ve seemed so cool, so fresh and exciting. Now he can’t help but compare them to the training bots they had in the Castle of Lions, which only heightens the Garrison model’s flaws.

 

He wonders what it must be like for Keith to battle against this kind of bot when he’s used to battling much fiercer and harder training simulations. He wonders if he’ll ever know what that feels like.

 

Ever since his conversation with Allura, he’s been trying to find a good distraction. Training seemed to work somewhat well back when he was in space, so he figured it’d work just as well now. Most of the time, he trains alone. Sometimes he runs into Keith or Hunk and Shay or—as he did today—Kinkade. Keith likely has not seen him yet—when he does, he’ll probably ask to train together. Despite the distraction it’ll provide, Lance can admit he won’t look forward to Keith absolutely kicking his ass in hand-to-hand combat.

 

Keith soars through the air and lands a kick smack dab in the middle of the training bot’s chest. He swings his Bayard up in an elegant arc before slamming it into the bot. With a heave he retracts his Bayard, wiping the sweat from his brow while the bot lays motionless, wires and chips spilling out of the gaping wound in its chest.

 

“He shouldn’t be so reckless with those,” Kinkade says, coming up to stand next to Lance. “They’re expensive.”

 

Lance huffs lightly, amused. “Trust me, this _is_ Keith not being reckless.”

 

Kinkade considers this for a moment and then proceeds to turn around, shaking his head as he makes his way back to line up for another round of shooting practice. Lance is about to take this as his own cue to join Keith when someone beats him to it.

 

Griffin approaches Keith as nonchalantly as he always does. They talk for a while, their voices quiet enough that Lance has no chance of hearing them unless he makes his presence known by stepping a little bit closer toward them. He’s about to do just that, but something holds him back. Keith’s been so helpful with Lance’s whole relationship fiasco—he owes it to him to let him have some time alone with the guy he likes.

 

Lance settles down against a nearby wall, sipping his water. He bunches his legs up to his chest and rests his chin on his knees. It’s weird to imagine what Keith’s like when he’s in love. Even now when he’s watching him talk to Griffin, Lance can’t see any noticeable difference in the way he acts. Usually people get softer around the person they like; fond eyes, an even fonder smile, a laugh that tinges the air with electricity. But Keith’s just…talking to Griffin as if he _weren’t_ crushing on him.

 

Lance has always been able to see sparks in the air around two potential love interests, he’s always been able to sense the charge between them, how time and space seem to shift for them and them alone. Right now, between Keith and Griffin, he just sees…well, _nothing._

 

He thinks back to his time spent with Allura and can’t help the frown the mars his face. He couldn’t really sense many sparks between them either. Maybe he’s just out of practice.

 

Keith and Griffin finally separate, their conversation cut short by Kinkade who takes Griffin away, presumably to spend some time training in their fighter jets. Lance gets up with a groan, dusts his clothes off, and jogs over to Keith.

 

“You up for some sparring?”

 

Keith smirks ever so slightly, eyes lighting up. “You know it.”

 

* * *

 

“Alright team, thanks again for your attention.” Shiro nods from the head of the table. “Dismissed.”

 

Lance bites down on his lip to suppress a sigh. For once in his life, he wishes the meeting wouldn’t end so soon. He takes his time packing his things, which is difficult to do given he only has a small notepad and a pen. There’s only so much time he can spend dawdling before he starts looking suspicious; given the way Veronica eyes him from the other side of the room, he probably already does.

 

But he needs time to prepare mentally for what’s about to come next.

 

“Lance?” Allura asks gently. She appears before him like an apparition, and Lance stiffens when he hears her voice. “Shall we?” She nods toward the door.

 

Lance’s mouth goes dry. “Yeah, lead the way.”

 

It feels like everyone in the room has gone silent, all eyes on the couple who may well be breaking up in a few short minutes. Lance tells himself that it’s fine, it’s ok, because Hunk and Pidge are both engrossed in conversation with Matt, Veronica’s briefing the MFE pilots, Shiro and Coran are hunched over some documents—no one cares enough to see them go. No one even really notices. Except—

 

Except Keith is all alone, arms folded, posture stiff, leaning against the table. He’s the one to notice them leave. And when Lance accidentally meets his gaze, he’s taken aback when he sees the expression—concern? Is that it?—on Keith’s face.

 

Outside the meeting room, the hallway is surprisingly empty. Lance shivers as he steps right under an air duct, rubbing his arms to keep warm.

 

“How are you?” Allura asks over her shoulder. She looks as stunning as usual, her long locks swaying elegantly in time with her steps.

 

“Good.” Bad. So, so bad. “How about you? We haven’t talked in ages.”

 

Allura ducks her head guiltily. She’s walking a few paces too fast, so when she turns back to face the front, Lance can no longer see her face. “I’m good as well, thank you. And yes, I know we’ve not talked much these past days but I thought that it might be for the best.”

 

“No, I didn’t—” Lance frowns. “I didn’t mean it like that.”

 

“I know.” Allura places her hands behind her back and looks up toward the ceiling, the same way one might look up at the night sky. “I’ve missed you.”

 

Finally, Lance can bring himself to smile. “I’ve missed you too, Princess.”

 

When Allura smiles back, she’s never seemed so distant.

 

They stop walking when they reach Allura’s room. She quickly swipes her access card across the panel and the door opens with a dull _beep._

 

The room is a lot less barren than it had been when Lance first saw it. Allura’s desk is covered with books of all kinds, ranging from popular YA novels to encyclopaedias. Various knickknacks rest on her bedside table, some of them old items she managed to salvage from the Castle of Lions while others are new and, most likely, a gift from Lance’s niece and nephew.

 

“So,” Lance starts, rocking on the balls of his feet. “What did you want to talk about?”

 

Allura starts pacing around the room. “I’ve been doing a lot of thinking since our last conversation.”

 

“And…?”

 

“And—” she stops abruptly and sighs. “I’m sorry, Lance, but you were right.”

 

Lance chuckles lowly. “The one time I had to be right, huh?”

 

“Please,” Allura says. There’s a misty sheen to her eyes. “Just—let me finish.”

 

Lance nods, stuffing his hands deep into his pockets. They start to shake so he curls his fingers inward, balls his hands into fists. It doesn’t help.

 

“You were right when you said we rushed into things. I—I was just so hurt and confused. I wanted comfort. I wanted to feel safe. And I knew you’d never hurt me.”

 

“Allura—”

 

“And—” she raises her voice a little, squares her jaw, “and—I’m just so _appalled_ that I would do something like this.”

 

“Hey,” Lance whispers softly. He steps forward, arms raised on autopilot to pull Allura in for a hug. He hesitates, bites down on his lip so hard that he’ll probably be able to feel tiny dents if he were to run his tongue across it. He settles for placing his hands on her shoulders. “Allura.”

 

She shakes her head, patting her eyes to keep the tears at bay. “I’m sorry for hurting you.”

 

“You didn’t. It’s ok.”

 

“But I _did._ ”

 

Lance’s heart shatters when she looks up at him, her eyes glistening with unshed tears. He can no longer stop himself; he reaches out and brushes her hair behind her ear, thumb gently running across her cheek.

 

“You didn’t,” he assures. “I’m fine. I promise.”

 

She smiles shakily and leans into his touch. “I value your friendship more than anything. And while I do feel strongly about you, I’m afraid these feelings have come from a place that isn’t as genuine as I had first thought. But I do care about you.”

 

“And I care about you. I just—I just want you to be happy, you know? Whatever makes you happy makes me happy.”

 

Allura chuckles lightly, but her laughter is dampened by the tears that form in her eyes. “Oh, Lance. You’re too good to me. I don’t deserve it.”

 

This time, Lance doesn’t bother to filter his words—then again, when has he _ever_ been good at that? “No. You deserve better.”

 

Allura’s smile is watery and sombre, yet it’s still the brightest thing in the room. She lifts up her hand and points her pinky out. “We can still be friends?” She inhales sharply and wags her finger. “I’m doing this right, aren’t I? It’s another one of your Earth customs—a pinky promise?”

 

“You’re doing it right, don’t worry.” Lance hooks his pinky with her own and sways their hands gently, side to side. “My niece taught you a lot, huh?”

 

“Your nephew, actually.”

 

Lance smiles and pulls his hand back. “You don’t have to ask. I’ll always be here for you, Allura. No matter what, I’m always your friend.”

 

Allura nods slowly, an awkward silence passing between them. Lance worries he might’ve been too corny, too cringeworthy. He scratches his head and clears his throat. “Well. I uh—I should go— _”_

 

The words are knocked right out of him when Allura surges forward. Her arms wrap around him like a vice, and Lance freezes up the instant she makes contact. She sighs, her head resting against his chest. He allows himself to relax, wraps his arms around her in return. He can smell her hair, her perfume, can feel her warmth, and he hates that this is the only time he’ll ever get to hold her like this.

 

“Thank you,” she whispers.

 

Lance says nothing. Instead he looks up at the ceiling, pretends the lights are stars and that he’s lost somewhere in their embrace.

 

* * *

 

 

 

Someone’s knocking on the door.

 

Whoever it is, they’ve been quite persistent. This is the third time in the span of what feels like an hour (but is actually only a minute) that they’re knocking. And, unfortunately, Lance has an idea of who it might be.

 

“Go away,” he murmurs, voice muffled by his pillow.

 

“Lance? Let me in.”

 

“Go away,” Lance repeats, voice raised to the point where he’s almost shouting. “Leave me alone.”

 

From the other side of the door, Keith groans in exasperation. As the handle starts to rattle, Lance rolls his eyes. It’s just like Keith to try and force himself in when he gets shut out.

 

“Open the door.”

 

“No.”

 

In his mind’s eye, Keith looks absolutely livid—teeth bared in a snarl, eyes narrowed in a piercing glare. “ _Lance_. Open. The. Door. That’s an order.”

 

Lance groans loudly, jaw set tight as he sits up. He walks to the door, joints stiff and quaking from inactivity, and meets Keith’s fiery gaze with his own one of frustration.

 

“What do you want?” He asks, already moving back toward his bed. He collapses onto it unceremoniously, tangling his already messy blankets. “Must be important if you’re playing the _leader_ card.”

 

“I just wanted to check on you.” Keith folds his arms over his chest. “I heard about what happened between you and Allura.”

 

Lance inhales sharply. “If you’re here to make fun of me, then go ahead. I’ll warn you though”—he swings his legs to the side and sits up—“at this point, I’ve pretty much heard it all, so unless you got something really creative then—”

 

“What? No! I’m—I’m not—Why would—?” Keith shakes his head rapidly, mouth agape. “Who’s been making fun of you?”

 

Lance bites the inside of his cheek before breaking out into a small—albeit unconvincing—grin. “No one. Just—I mean, sometimes Veronica teases me about my love life but…But Hunk and Pidge, they said some—It’s nothing. Whatever.” He leans back against his pillow, trying his damn hardest to act _somewhat_ casual.

 

“I wanted to check on you,” Keith says. “Are you ok?”

 

There’s no pity in his eyes. No looks of sorrow, no looks that say _aw, well, what did you expect?_ No looks that say _Allura’s way out of your league._ And it’s so startling, for someone to be treating Lance’s emotions with this sort of respect, that Lance realises he’d forgotten, for a moment, that this is what friendship is supposed to be like.

 

He ponders the question for a moment. _Are you ok?_ For a long time, nothing felt ok about his life. For a long time he’d have to lie and say he’s fine, with a fake smile and fake exuberance that left him feeling tired and worn out; that left him feeling like some kind of criminal, for tricking everyone around him.

 

“I’m fine,” Lance says, and for once he truly means it.

 

Keith’s posture loosens immediately, the tense lines of his shoulders and back going slack. “Yeah?”

 

“Yeah. I mean, I thought I’d feel worse, but—” He shrugs. “Honestly…I was kind of starting to get over Allura before we even got back to Earth. When I found out about how she felt, my feelings returned full-force, but things were different… _I_ was different. It felt weird. But I’m glad things turned out like this. We’re better off as friends.”

 

He cuts himself off right there before he starts to go off on a rant. He _does_ feel ok, but there’s something that’s been bugging him.

 

_Second choice,_ his mind sing-songs. _You’re always the second choice._

 

“Anyway,” Lance plows on, talking loudly, “thanks for checking up on me.”

 

Keith’s hair covers his eyes as he lowers his head. “I’m sorry.”

 

Startled, Lance blinks in shock. “You’re what?”

 

“I—” Keith cuts off abruptly, raking his hands through his hair. “I’m not good at this sort of thing, ok? I’m not—good at comforting people or giving advice. You shouldn’t have listened to me.”

 

“Are you kidding me? Keith, buddy, I don’t think you understand how much you’ve helped me.”

 

“I ruined your relationship with Allura!”

 

“You didn’t ruin anything!” Lance argues. He pauses for a moment while Keith regains his breath. “Not everything is about you, you know?”

 

Keith jolts. “When did I say it was?! All I’m saying is I gave you bad advice—and now—now—”

 

“Now Allura and I have decided to just be friends. Trust me, it’s better we sorted this out now than sometime in the future. You didn’t do anything wrong, Keith.”

 

“Fine,” Keith relents. “If you say so.”

 

Lance nods, more to himself, and rests his arms behind his head. “I’ll tell you what I’m upset about, if you’re curious.”

 

Keith winces, muscles all tense again. “What?”

 

Lance sighs dreamily. “I never got to take Allura out on a date.”

 

“…That’s it?”

 

Lance whines in the back of treat before turning his head so his can grin mischievously at Keith. “I know it’s lame, but…I’ve had the perfect date in mind for the longest time. It’s kinda sad to see it go to waste.”

 

“Why don’t you just…go on the date anyway?”

 

Lance hums. “Interesting idea, but I don’t have anyone to go with.” He crosses and uncrosses his legs a few times, wincing when one of them gets a small cramp. “Besides, I don’t want to date right now.”

 

“It doesn’t have to be a date.” Keith wanders around his room for a bit before setting against the window. The sunlight that peeks through the curtains frames him in such a nice way, he almost looks like he stepped right out of an oil painting. “Just go out with a friend instead.”

 

Lance ponders the idea for a moment. It certainly would be nice to hang out with someone. But who can he go with? Hunk and Pidge are the first to come to mind, but he doesn’t want to drag them into something they probably wouldn’t be interested in. Unless…

 

Lance purses his lips. “Would you come with me?”

 

“I—what?”

 

“You should come with me,” Lance says, this time with more confidence.

 

Keith sputters. “You—you want me to go on a…date? With…you?”

 

Lance tuts, wagging his finger. “It’s _not_ a date. It’ll just be us, hanging out, and visiting the places I wanted to visit with Allura. _”_ He halts, considering his words with a wince. “Ok, when I say it like this, it does sound a little like a date. But it’s not.”

 

“Not…a date?”

 

Lance shakes his head. “Nope. Not a date.”

 

“I…I don’t know…”

 

“Oh, come on, Keith!” Lance is up on his feet in an instant, waving his arms around to try and get his point across. “It’ll be fun! Besides, this can be my way of repaying you for your help.”

 

“My help? Lance, it’s because of me that you and—”

 

“Nope. We’re not talking about this again. I told you, it’s not your fault Allura and I broke up. That’s just how it is.” Lance waves his hand in the air dismissively. “That’s not what I meant, anyway. You’ve just…been really supportive. And I…kind of miss hanging out with you.”

 

It isn’t until he sees the expression on Keith’s face that he realises he’s royally screwed something up. _As usual._

 

“Uh…” Lance quickly backtracks, hoping to salvage at least some of his dignity. “Uh…I guess we never really hung out much in the first place, but we haven’t seen each other in so long, that—Ugh, you know what? I’ll just ask Hunk instead.”

 

“No!”

 

Lance gapes. “No?”

 

Keith balls his hands into fists and clears his throat. “I’ll go with you.”

 

“Really?” When Keith nods, Lance all but has to restrain himself from hugging him. “Great! When are you free? Next week?”

 

“Yeah, I’m—pretty much free whenever you’re free.”

 

Lance laughs and throws his arms around Keith’s shoulders, unable to contain himself any longer. “Cool! Then this time next week, I’ll take you out on the best not-date of your life!”

 

“Yeah,” Keith says weakly. “Sounds great.”

 

  


	2. Chapter 2

 “It’s a shame,” Rachel starts, face painted with a frown, “what happened between you and Allura.”

 

Lance sighs, folding his arms on the table before letting his head droop down on top of them. “It is. But sometimes things don’t work out the way you want them to, you know?”

 

Rachel gives him a pointed look, picking up a small bottle of nail polish. She shakes it gently, hitting it against the palm of her hand. “Trust me, I know better than most. It’s not like I planned for my brother to go missing, hm?”

 

“You can’t blame me for that—I was busy saving the world!”

 

“Whatever,” Rachel says, rolling her eyes. She unscrews the cap of her nail polish and carefully starts painting her nails a nice, bright shade of orange. She gets two nails done before she speaks again, unable to keep the smile out of her voice. “But I am glad to have you back.”

 

Between him going missing and the Galra invasion, Lance’s family has been through a lot. Although things have gotten better, a part of him worries they’ll never be able to live their lives the same way they used to. Even now, instead of getting to move back into their old family home, they’ve been relocated into a new house that’s only a couple minutes walk from the Garrison. It’s part of the Garrison’s Temporary Housing Program, aimed to help people whose homes and towns were destroyed by the Galra. Until their old home is rebuilt, Lance’s family is stuck here, in this house that’s too small, too impersonal.

 

“When are the others getting back?” He asks, drumming his fingers across the table; his family have barely lived in this house for a month, yet the table is already covered in small scratches, undoubtedly caused by Nadia and Sylvio getting a bit too intense with helping out in the kitchen.

 

“No idea,” Rachel says. Her tongue juts out as she swipes the brush across her nails, coating them in polish. “Maybe in a few hours?”

 

Everyone’s gone to the market this morning (well, everyone except for Rachel, who’s stuck babysitting Nadia and Sylvio), and while Lance would’ve loved to join them, he was busy at the Garrison running errands for Veronica. He’d much rather be forced to carry mama’s grocery bags than to carry important, highly classified documents from Veronica’s office to Iverson’s.

 

“I wanted to go as well,” Lance pouts. “I wanted to see if they had any cool video games.”

 

Rachel laughs at that, her chuckles eventually subsiding into snorts. “You’ve been to outer space and fought intergalactic wars, but you _still_ want to play video games?”

 

“What’s the big deal?” Lance argues. “Even a great Paladin of Voltron has to take some time off to relax.”

 

She chuckles again, pausing only to blow on her nails. “I still can’t believe it.” At Lance’s look of confusion, she elaborates further, “That you’re a Paladin.”

 

“I can’t really believe it either. It feels like just yesterday we rescued Shiro and found Blue.”

 

“Blue…” Rachel mutters to herself. “So, you were the original Blue Paladin but then you just…changed? To Red?”

 

“It’s complicated,” Lance says. At Rachel’s command, he splays his fingers out on the table. “But yeah—I was the original Blue Paladin.” He puffs his chest out a little, swelling with pride.

 

“But now you’re Red.”

 

“Yep.” He can’t keep his hands from fidgeting, pretending that the table-top is a piano and his rhythmic tapping is some sort of melodic song.

 

“Which do you prefer? Red or blue?”

 

Lance’s fingers stop dancing. “I never really thought about that. I mean, piloting Blue was _so_ much fun. We had an amazing time together and I felt really close to her. I felt more comfortable piloting her than Red. I…don’t really know why. Maybe I was just used to her, or something.” He pauses for a moment, really letting the question seep further into his mind. “Piloting Red was…a lot of pressure. I was trying my best to fill in Keith’s shoes, but he’s on a whole other level to me.” He slumps back in his chair, shoulders deflating. “I guess I could never properly replace him. I guess I—”

 

_Didn’t want to replace him._

 

Rachel’s eyelashes cause whirlwinds to spiral on her cheeks with how rapidly she blinks. “No, I—I meant what colour nail polish do you want. Red or blue?”

 

Lance’s eyes bug out in shock. “ _Oh.”_ He laughs awkwardly while his sister narrows her eyes at him. “I’ll go with blue.”

 

Rachel hums before digging through her makeup bag, hunting for the blue polish. She ends up having to take out a few eyeliners and lipsticks before she can finally reach it. She yanks the bottle out triumphantly and sets it down on the table.

 

The nail polish is slightly cold as it glides over Lance’s nails. He doesn’t paint his nails often enough to be used to the feeling, but Rachel’s hands are so warm in contrast that he finds he doesn’t really mind.

 

“And we’re…done!”

 

Lance looks at his nails, admiring the neat job Rachel has done in painting them. “They look great.”

 

“Right?” Rachel all but squeals, leaning forward to take in her handiwork.

 

“Hello?” Someone calls from the doorway. “Anyone home?”

 

Lance pales immediately.

 

“Veronica?” Rachel calls out. “We’re in the kitchen.”

 

Lance waves his hands around frantically, getting up from his seat. It’s not until he hides in the adjacent laundry room that Rachel understands what’s going on.

 

“We?” Veronica asks, stepping into the kitchen. She looks around, folds her arms across her chest. “Who’s _we_?”

 

“Me…and myself,” Rachel says, smiling dumbly.

 

Veronica completely ignores her. “Lance, get out here. I know you’re hiding. I saw your shoes outside.”

 

“Hey, sis!” Lance cheers, trying—and failing—to sound as enthusiastic as possible, popping his head out from the doorway. “What’s up?”

 

“You know what’s up,” Veronica scolds. She walks over and pokes him in the chest. “We have a meeting in forty minutes. We need to leave now if we don’t want to be late.”

 

“ _Another_ meeting?” Lance groans. “Why do I even need to be there? All I do is just sit and doodle cats in my notepad.”

 

Veronica rubs her temples together. “I’m going to ignore that last statement for the sake of my sanity. Go get ready. We’re leaving now.”

 

Lance frowns. “Right now? Can’t I at least say bye to Nadia and Sylvio?”

 

“That’s not really a good idea,” Rachel cuts in. “They’re napping.”

 

Lance shoots her a dirty look. “Who’s side are you on?”

 

Veronica rolls her eyes. “Come on, we need to go.” She drags Lance by his uniform, yanking him toward the front door.

 

Lance pulls back roughly, but grossly miscalculates in that he didn’t actually expect Veronica to let him go. He yelps as he starts to fall back, thrusting a hand out to grab something—anything—to steady himself. He latches onto the edge of a nearby table, breathing out a sigh of relief when he finally manages to stop his descent. “Phew,” he breathes out. “That was clo—”

 

Rachel gasps as something crashes to the floor. Lance’s blood runs cold; even Veronica’s face has gone deathly pale, and she’s _not_ one to scare easy.

 

“What?” Lance says, voice strained.

 

Rachel places a hand over her mouth and drops down to her knees. Veronica follows suit, crouching next to her.

 

Lance finally bites the bullet and looks down himself. His neck is stiff and moves awkwardly, as if his bones are rusted metal. His eyes zoom in on what he bumped into and he stands as stiff as a statue, taking it all in. He physically feels his soul separate itself from his mortal vessel and descend into the depths of the earth.

 

“Is it broken?” Veronica whispers.

 

Rachel carefully picks up the fallen picture frame. Her hands shake ever so slightly as she brings it up to assess the damage, turning it over to see if anything has shattered. “No,” she breathes out. Immediately her shoulders sag in relief. The crease in her forehead melds away and a grin spreads across her face. “No, it’s still in one piece.”

 

“ _Lance_ ,” Veronica hisses as she rises from the floor. “Be more careful! What would we have done if it had broken? Do you know how upset mum and dad would be?”

 

Lance narrows his eyes at her. “Maybe if _you_ weren’t in such a rush to get me out of the house, none of this would’ve happened in the first place!”

 

With a heavy sigh, Veronica adjusts her glasses. “Ok. I get it. I’m sorry.”

 

Lance bites down a quip, smoothes his hair down. “Me too.” He turns to face Rachel, who’s polishing the picture frame with the sleeve of her shirt.

 

“Here,” Veronica says, holding a hand out toward Rachel. “Let me do it.”

 

Rachel concedes and hands the frame over. It’s a smart decision; Veronica is always prepared for any sort of situation. It’s not a surprise when she pulls a lens cleaner from her pocket along with a small pack of tissues. She sprays the frame and wipes away all the dust and fingerprint smudges. When she sets it back down, it looks immaculate.

 

Now that it has his attention, Lance can’t remember the last time he’d looked at this photo. It’s been such a staple in their household, a constant he could always rely on, because no matter where they lived or where they went, that photo was always there.

 

The photo itself is a simple family portrait taken years ago. Nadia and Sylvio had just been born, held in their mother’s arms while Luis stood beside them, beaming wide and proud. Lance had been squashed between his grandparents and Rachel, flashing the camera a big toothy grin. His hair was an abomination, but looking at the photo now, he can’t get over how… _young_ he was. How clear his eyes were. How happy he looked.

 

Veronica and Marco stood off to the side, instructed to pose nicely and sweetly for the camera. Certainly, Veronica looked the part, her smile perfect and calculated, her gaze fixed straight ahead. Meanwhile, Marco was sporting a red nose and watery eyes after having sneezed shot after shot; this picture was one of the few that didn’t feature his crinkled face captured in the midst of a sneeze.

 

Vaguely, Lance hears Veronica and Rachel laughing about their unstylish clothes in the photo, about Marco’s funny face and Lance’s horrendous hairdo. Rachel nudges him with her elbow, but even that isn’t enough to drag him out of his reverie. He’s transfixed by his parents, who stand side by side in the photo, and stare at each other with the fondest looks he’s ever seen.

 

He’s always wanted to experience a love that strong, the kind of love that seems like it’s able to transcend everything. It’s one of the reasons he was so torn about getting over Allura; Lance _wants_ to be in love, wants to gaze at someone with the softest eyes and the gentlest smile, wants to look at them and see beauty and grace and the whole entire universe laid out before him, nestled in their eyes, dusted along the flutter of their eyelashes and the apples of their cheeks as they smile.

 

“We’ve got to get going,” Veronica says. She sounds so far away, despite being so close.

 

“Stop by again tomorrow and we can laugh at more old photos.” Rachel raises her eyebrows up and down, up and down, grin teasing.

 

“Come on, Lance,” Veronica says.

 

“Huh?” Lance shakes his head, finally turning away from the photo. “Did you say something?”

 

Veronica shoots him a look as she bends down to tie her laces. “Get your shoes on. We’re leaving.”

 

* * *

 

“Alright everyone, thank you for your attention. That’ll be all for today.” Shiro nods and starts gathering his papers. “We’ll have a briefing for our next mission in a few days, so stay tuned for that. Dismissed.”

 

The room erupts into life as everyone packs up their belongings. But just before anyone can leave, Iverson stands, his chair screeching on the tiled floor, and clears his throat. Shiro’s mouth rounds in realisation and he waves an arm out toward everyone. “Just a minute! Please stay seated! Iverson has an important announcement.”

 

Where Shiro is greeted with respect and awe, Iverson gets greeted with suspicious side eyes and anxious whispers. Clearing his throat again, Iverson procures a piece of paper from behind his back and holds it out for everyone to see. Lance has never seen it before, has no clue what it is or what’s written on it, but judging by the way the MFE pilots groan and cringe, it doesn’t seem like a good thing.

 

“I’m sure some of you remember this,” Iverson says. He paces around the head of the table, his shoes squeaking when he stops and makes an abrupt turn back around. “But for those who don’t know, it’s our cleaning schedule.” He pauses. “More like _your_ cleaning schedule.”

 

“I thought he forgot about it,” Rizavi hisses from across the table.

 

Lance exchanges a look with Pidge and Hunk, but they’re just as confused.

 

“You’re all aware of the impacts the Galra invasion has had on the way we run things at the Garrison. Unfortunately, we’re short staffed, which means we don’t have enough chefs or maintenance workers or”—he holds the cleaning roster up high—“cleaners.”

 

“Sir?” Rizavi dares to ask despite Griffin’s warning glare. “I thought the MFE pilots would be exempt from this?”

 

“Well,” Iverson says with fake cheer. He rocks on the balls of his feet. “You couldn’t be more wrong. It’s true that I did exempt you for these last few weeks, but the battle is over now and you’ve all recovered. Your cleaning services are needed again.”

 

Rizavi gulps and nods, sinking back into her seat.

 

“I don’t want people to start thinking that we like to play favourites here at the Garrison,” Iverson continues. It takes a lot of effort for Lance to not scoff at that, so he settles on rolling his eyes (when Iverson isn’t looking his way, of course). “That means that neither MFE pilots nor the Paladins will be exempt from cleaning duty. Understood?”

 

“Yes, sir!” The MFE pilots say in perfect unison. They look and sound about as serious as they do when they’re deployed on a mission.

 

Iverson raises an eyebrow toward Lance and his fellow Paladins. Compared to the MFE pilots, they make a rather pathetic bunch. Pidge and Hunk’s faces are still caught somewhere in between dread and fear; Keith’s expression is blank but there’s a hint of frustration in his posture, wedged in the corners of his mouth and his balled up fists; Lance’s own expression is a weird combination of everyone else’s, but he’s at least trying not to let it show.

 

Allura—the only one who truly seems unbothered—raises a hand in question and waits for Iverson to nod toward her before asking, “Do we need to clean on a weekly basis?”

 

“That depends on the schedule. You clean when it tells you to clean and that’s that. Each week there’s a deadline for when the cleaning should be complete.” Iverson paces until he’s standing behind a pale-faced Rizavi. “Isn’t that right, cadet?”

 

Rizavi’s laugh is strangled. “What do you mean, sir? I always stick to the deadline!”

 

“Good. Because this week’s deadline is Saturday.”

 

“ _What?”_ Rizavi throws herself across Leifsdottir and grabs the roster straight from Kinkade’s hands. She scans each of the names with wide, unsettled eyes. “I can’t find my name,” she says slowly. A smile breaks out on her face and she punches the air with a cheer. “Ha! No cleaning for me this week!” She winks at Griffin. “I did see your name though.”

 

“Great,” Griffin says, voice dull.

 

“Is my name on the list?” Allura asks. She’s about to rise from her seat to check the roster when Iverson takes it from Kinkade.

 

“I’ll post this outside so everyone can take a look, but I’ll tell you right now who’s scheduled for cleaning duty.” Iverson calmly lists through the pages. “Remember, the deadline is Saturday.”

 

Lance sits impatiently and waits to hear if his name will be called. He hears Pidge’s, then Hunk’s, then Keith’s, but just as he thinks he’s in the clear, Iverson calls his name, too.

 

“This sucks!” Pidge cries with a pout. Hunk pats her shoulder for comfort, which is ironic given that he looks more bummed out than she does.

 

As for Lance, he really doesn’t mind. He’s not a huge fan of cleaning, but he’s helped Coran enough time to have become pretty damn good at scrubbing floors (and healing pods too, but the Garrison doesn’t have those). But there’s a sinking dread in his stomach and his heart hammers away like mad. It’s as if his body has realised something he hasn’t come to understand yet.

 

His mind works it over; he needs to clean whatever he’s been assigned by Saturday. Today is Wednesday. He can start cleaning tomorrow and finish the rest on Fri—

 

Oh. He’s supposed to meet Keith on Friday.

 

_Oh._

 

* * *

 

Nose scrunched up and mouth twisted into a grimace, Lance braces for the worst as he opens up the supply cupboard. For a place as technologically advanced as the Garrison, it sure is a telltale sign that something is amiss when the one place that doesn’t have any cool, hi-tech sliding doors is the cleaning supply cupboard. The door groans under his touch, swings open at a snail’s pace, almost taunting. Lance slams it open with his palm and takes a step inside.

 

It smells strangely like his old elementary school, a weird, almost nostalgic scent that takes him back to simpler times. Thankfully there isn’t much dust in the room, but Lance still makes a point that next time he comes here it’d be better to bring some kind of scarf to wrap around his mouth and nose. There’s a large shelf lined with various cleaning products on one side and an abundance of mops and brooms on the other. Lance takes what he needs, making sure to include a pair of plastic gloves and a bucket. Fully stocked and ready to go, he turns around and leaves, shutting the creaky door with his foot and, most likely, looking a lot less cool than he imagines.

 

He’s been assigned to clean one of the hallways in the West section and, since he has plans to go on a not-date with Keith tomorrow, he needs to get it _all_ done today.

 

The boring pre-cleaning tasks are just as gruelling as he imagines them to be. He fills up the bucket with warm, soapy water, but accidentally spills almost half of its contents when he knocks into the broom and trips. It takes a few minutes to clean the mess up, but it takes even _longer_ to direct any incoming cadets (or, even worse, _superiors)_ to take the long way around until Lance gets all the water mopped up. 

 

He sweeps, mops, picks trash up and throws it away. He wipes down windows and sneezes only ten times when the cleaning spray gets in his face. 

 

And finally— _finally—_ when everything is polished and cleaned to perfection, Lance just stops to bask in the moment. 

 

“That wasn’t so bad,” he murmurs to himself. He throws a now dirty cloth into the even dirtier bucket before picking it all up, precariously carrying it outside to dump it down a drain.  As he rounds the corner he spots Rizavi and Leifstodder making their way toward him. 

 

“Lance!” Rizavi calls out in surprise. She pauses for a moment, raises a hand to her mouth to suppress a snicker. “Cleaning duty?”

 

Lance pulls a face. “Gee, what gave it away?”

 

“Oh, I don’t know. You just have this air about you. An air of despair. And pain.”

 

“Also,” Leifsdottir cuts in, pointing to his bucket. “You’re carrying cleaning supplies and smell strongly of detergent.”

 

“Well, yeah, that too,” Rizavi chuckles.

 

“Are you going out to refill your bucket?” Leifsdottir asks.

 

“Huh? Refill? No, I’m already done cleaning. I just need to dump this water and put everything away.”

 

Rizavi’s eyes bug out in shock. “Done? There’s no way you’re done. It’s barely midday.”

 

“What can I say?” Lance boasts, brushing the hair from his eyes. “I’m great at everything I do, cleaning included.”

 

Rizavi scoffs. “This is so unfair. It takes me a whole day to clean the entire West Wing, but it only took you a few hours?” She throws her hands up in the air. “This is ridiculous! You’ve never even done cleaning duty before!”

 

Lance pales. Sweat pools on the palms of his hands, and no matter how many times he readjusts his grip, the bucket feels impossibly heavy. “Wait,” he says, voice raspy. “Did you just say the—the _entire_ West Wing?”

 

“Yeah?”

 

“Oh my god.” Lance drops the bucket to the floor, not caring in the least that some water sloshes over the rim and onto his shoes. “Oh my god,” he repeats, putting his face in his hands.

 

Rizavi yelps and steps back, half-hiding behind Leifsdottir. “Hey, what gives?” She snaps, kicking stray droplets of water off her polished boots. 

 

Leifsdottir blinks, tilting her head to the side. “Lance hasn’t finished cleaning. He misunderstood and cleaned only one section of the West wing instead of the entirety of it.”

 

Lance wails, “This is ridiculous! It’s way too unreasonable to be cleaning _so much!”_

 

Rizavi steps forward, her face uncharacteristically serious. “Lance,” she whispers, “if the circumstances were different I would be laughing at you right now. But as someone who once did this exact same thing, I offer you my condolences.”

 

The smallest, tiniest bubble of hope grows in Lance’s chest, and before he can think it over he asks, beaming, “So you guys can help me out?” 

 

“Oh, no,” Rizavi chuckles. She shakes her head wildly, arms waving about. Her laugh sounds suspiciously forced. “No, no, no. Definitely not. We’re busy.”

 

Leifsdottir idly taps her index finger to her chin in thought. “Actually—”

 

“Busy!” Rizavi forces out with far too much vigour. She pushes Leifsdottir, urging her forward, until all that’s left is her staccato laughter echoing in the empty hallway.

 

* * *

 

Lance doesn’t think he’s ever been in so much physical pain. Every muscle, every joint, every bone in his body feels as if it’s been torched, doused in salt, and then torched some more. He drags himself across the slick, polished floor—the very floor he’d painstakingly mopped and wiped for hours and hours and _hours_ on end.

 

A group of boys passes by him, their hair ruffled and uniforms disheveled. Lance doesn’t pay them any attention until his blurry, dust-filled eyes zoom in on a small speck of dirt staining the otherwise immaculate floor. He isn’t sure if it’d be physically possible to actually bend down to clean it up in his current state, so he scuffs the tip of his shoe against the stain. Relief floods his system when the stain disappears.

 

But there’s another stain. And another. And another.

 

Tracing the path of the stains with his eyes, he searches for the culprit. Or, rather, the _culprits_.

 

“Hey!” Lance calls out to the group of boys up ahead. They don’t hear at first, too engrossed in their conversation (and their dirt-trekking) to pay any attention.

 

Jaw clenched, Lance summons the last few dredges of strength he has left, and storms over toward them. “Hey!”

 

Their laughter simpers down and they all, in a weird sort of synchronisation, turn around.

 

“Yeah?” One of the boys asks.

 

Before Lance says anything, he wills himself to calm down. He’s always had a way with words, can spin lies as if it were wool. Getting through to these young, stubborn cadets shouldn’t be too hard; he _was_ one of them not long ago.

 

He gives them all a quick once over before allowing his features to relax a little. “How was training?” He asks. “I take it you guys went outside?”

 

“Yeah? What’s it to you?”

 

Lance steps forward, hands casually placed in his pockets. “Nothing. It’s just, you know, it’s kind of common courtesy to”—he gestures to their dirty shoes—“ _not_ track dirt inside.”

 

The boy turns to his friends and scoffs. “Ok, _mother._ Relax, why don’t you?”

 

“Look,” Lance levels with him. “I’m a busy guy, with a whole bunch of super important things to be working on. I can’t waste any more time cleaning.”

 

“Oh?” The boy steps forward, shoulders squared and face bunched up in what looks like it’s supposed to be a horrible glare. “You think you’re special or something? We all get assigned cleaning duty, so shut the—”

 

“Dude,” someone from behind him whispers sharply. “ _Dude,_ he’s a Paladin!”

 

Lance tries not to squirm under all their scrutiny. He’s proud to be a Paladin, no doubt about it. But right now, he gets the vibe that maybe even Paladin status isn’t enough to deal with these pesky kids.

 

“So what?” The boy spits. “That just makes him even more pathetic. What kind of a Paladin gets assigned with _chores_?”

 

Lance hates the way the words make him feel. Hates that he’s letting them get to him. “Well, maybe if you weren’t so bad at it yourself, _I_ wouldn’t have to—”

 

“Lance!”

 

Lance deflates instantly. Something gathers in the pit of his stomach, coils up and into his chest. Dread. Embarrassment.

 

Shiro strolls over with confidence, languidly stopping right by Lance’s side. He pauses, takes a look at the cowering group of young cadets, and raises a brow. “Everything alright?”

 

“Yes, sir!” The cadets cry out.

 

“Great.” Shiro grins, not wavering the slightest bit even as the boys ogle his arm. “Class is starting soon. You better not be late.” The boys all turn and walk away but Shiro calls out after them, “And clean this mess up before Iverson sees.”

 

It’s almost comical how pale their faces get, how they run into one another in their flurry and panic to get the floor clean and make it to class on time. As they scamper away, Lance urges his quaking heart to calm down.

 

“Don’t mind them,” Shiro says. “They’re just a group of troublemakers.” He sets a hand down on Lance’s back.

 

“Yeah, I know. Thanks for the help.” Lance fidgets with the buttons on his cuff and tries for a grin. “I guess it comes in handy to be friends with a superior officer.”

 

Shiro chuckles. “It never fails to amuse me when I see cadets look at me with such—”

 

“Fear?”

 

“Well, I was going to say wariness, but fear works, too… But I’m not _that_ scary, right?”

 

Lance spent almost all of his days as a cadet idolising Shiro, looking up at him with nothing but awe and respect. “No,” he says, shaking his head. “No, I think—I think that most people are just in awe whenever you’re around.”

 

“I hope so,” Shiro says with a longing sigh. He startles when his watch lets out a sudden _beep._ “Looks like my break’s over.” Shiro sighs again as he taps at his watch, as if maybe he could force time to turn back. “I should get back to work.”

 

“Me too,” Lance says—lies. He’s done more than enough work for today.

 

Shiro’s face lights up. “Oh, that’s right. I almost forgot to tell you.” There’s something in his expression that seems almost secretive. “Have fun with Keith tomorrow.”

 

Lance tries hard to not let the confusion (and, admittedly, the slight ebb of panic) bleed out into his expression, but from the way Shiro’s mouth quirks up into the tiniest hint of a smirk, it’s clear he isn’t doing such a great job. “You know about that?”

 

“Of course! Keith told me a few days ago.” Shiro pauses and leans in close. “He seemed very excited.”

 

This time Lance doesn’t even try to mask his confusion. “What? Seriously? He seemed _excited_?”

 

“He really did.”

 

“Are you sure we’re talking about the same Keith?”

 

“Lance,” Shiro starts, his voice surprisingly serious. “I don’t think you realise just how much Keith likes to be around you.”

 

“Ok,” Lance says slowly. “Ok, but…he didn’t look that happy when I asked if he wanted to hang out. Our friendship has always just been kind of unpredictable, you know? I don’t even know if I can call it a friendship in the first place.”

 

“Alright, so maybe you had a rocky start when you first met. But you’ve both grown so much since then. Trust me when I say this, but Keith really does like you a lot more than you think.”

 

Shiro could be lying. He probably _is_ lying. But deep down Lance yearns so badly for those words to be true.

 

* * *

 

When Lance finally makes it to the common room he heads straight for the couch in the back corner, tucked snugly beneath the hazy glow of the setting sun. He flops down on the soft cushions face first, tensing when he feels something poke his side. By some miracle he manages to lift his hand and slide it underneath the cushions. Nothing’s out of the ordinary, until his fingers gloss over something smooth and firm.

 

“What the—” Lance mutters, shifting around so he can get a better grip. He yanks the object back and is not really surprised to find out it’s a book on mechanics.

 

“Thank god!” Pidge cries out from behind him, and the book is plucked from Lance’s grip. “We were looking all over for this!”

 

Lance mutters something unintelligible and lets his head fall back down on the couch.

 

“Hunk!” Pidge shouts. “I found it!”

 

Lance groans, taking one of the cushions and placing it over his head. “Pidge, could you keep it down? Some of us have a major headache.”

 

“Sorry,” Pidge says. Even without looking at her, Lance can see the wince on her face. “Hunk and I were looking for this all morning. It’s my dad’s book. He would’ve killed us if we’d lost it.”

 

“Pidge,” Hunk says, voice laced with relief. “You found the book! Where was it?”

 

“Actually, Lance was the one who found it. It was under the cushions.”

 

“…Really? ‘Cause I swear I already checked under there a few hours ago.”

 

“Doesn’t matter.” Pidge’s clothes rustle as she sits down on one of the chairs. “I’m just happy we have it back.”

 

“How’d you lose it in the first place?” Lance dares to ask, voice muffled.

 

“It’s a long story,” Hunk says. “We needed to figure something out and Pidge said that—she said—uh…Lance, are you ok?”

 

Lance forces himself to turn around so he’s laying on his back. The lights on the ceiling irritate his eyes so he brings a hand up to shield his face. The polish on his nails has already started to chip at the edges. He frowns. Rachel isn’t going to be happy if she sees. “Yeah, I’m fine. Just got a headache.” He pauses for a moment but then decides to elaborate, “From all the dust.”

 

“Dust?” Pidge asks. She’s looking at her book, idly flipping through the pages. “What were you doing? Cleaning?”

 

“Yeah.”

 

Her wrist stills, the motion jarring, abrupt. Hunk, who’s now also seated, brings his hands up to his mouth, as if trying to physically suppress a gasp.

 

“Pidge.” Hunk sounds urgent. “Pidge, what day is it? Don’t tell me it’s Saturday. Oh god, it _is_ Saturday, isn’t it?” He voice borders on shrill. “Iverson will kill us!”

 

“It’s not Saturday,” Pidge reassures. “It’s not even Friday.”

 

“Phew.” Hunk exhales, slumping in his chair. “Lance, don’t scare me like that.”

 

“Like what?” Lance says. He turns his head to look at them, right eye screwed shut to block out the annoying lights.

 

“It’s just weird that you’re cleaning so early,” Pidge says. “I mean, we have until Saturday to do it. Why not leave it ’til the last minute like a normal person?”

 

“I was going to,” Lance says wistfully. “But I’m busy tomorrow, and the day after that is Saturday. I had no choice but to get it all done today.”

 

“Oh.” Pidge readjusts her glasses and shrugs. “That makes sense.”

 

“I’ll give you guys a warning.” Lance bites his lip as he sits up. “Don’t leave it until the last minute. The day’s still not over. You should start now before it’s too late.”

 

“Seriously?” Pidge asks. “It’s that bad?”

 

Lance might be staring at them, but it’s not them that he sees. Instead he sees hallway after hallway, dirty windows, dusty floors and buckets of water. “It’s worse,” he says. “So much worse.”

 

“I think we should listen to him,” Hunk says. The smallest hint of panic has inched its way back into his voice.

 

Pidge still seems skeptical but relents with a shrug. “Yeah, guess you’re right.”

 

Hunk allows himself to relax but is clearly too wound up to keep sitting any longer. He stands and starts urging Pidge to pack up her things, to which Pidge responds with a lazy drawl and a wave of a hand.

 

A pitter-patter fills the room. Lance cranes his head around Hunk and Pidge—who are on the brink of an argument—and lays eyes on Kosmo. And wherever Kosmo is, Keith is sure to be close behind.

 

“Hey,” Keith greets when he finally catches up to the group. He throws himself into the nearest empty chair with far less grace than usual. Kosmo circles the chair enough times to make Lance dizzy before settling down near Keith’s feet.

 

Hunk gasps in excitement and is on his knees in an instant. “Kosmo!” He cries, hands buried in the wolf’s thick fur. “Who’s a good boy, huh?”

 

“What have you been up to today?” Pidge asks, clearly fighting back a smile as she watches Hunk smother Kosmo with enough affection to last a lifetime. “You look pretty beat.”

 

Keith breathes in deep. “I was cleaning.”

 

“Really?” Pidge tilts her head. “That’s funny, ‘cause Lance spent the whole day cleaning too.” Her eyes narrow in a way that doesn’t settle well with Lance. “You guys are both busy tomorrow?”

 

“We are,” Lance answers before anyone else can. “We’re both busy tomorrow.” He takes a moment to pray that Pidge will resist her curiosity and won’t pry any further. He isn’t embarrassed to be hanging out with Keith; he doesn’t care if anyone finds out. But it somehow feels… _weird_ for everyone to know. Part of Lance just wants to keep it a secret.

 

“Keith, you don’t mind if I borrow Kosmo for a while, right?” Hunk asks. He ruffles Kosmo behind the ears as he talks. “I made him some treats this morning and want him to give me his official review.”

 

“No, I don’t mind.” Keith smiles down at his furry companion and Kosmo looks up, regards him with a tilted head.

 

“Sweet! This is gonna be so great!”

 

“Oh no,” Pidge says flatly. Her eyes gleam as she sets her book aside. “Hunk, what’ll we do? We’re supposed to start cleaning now, aren’t we?”

 

Hunk’s face falls. He stares dejectedly at Kosmo. “Oh…yeah. You’re right.”

 

“Too late!” Pidge bellows. She dashes out the common room, shouting for Kosmo to follow. Sure enough, Kosmo perks up instantly and bounds after her. He jumps up and disappears in mid-air, only to reappear at the end of the room, right behind Pidge. Hunk takes off when the shock wears away, rushing after them as fast as he can.

 

Lance chuckles as he watches them all go, but the humour is short lived when he notices that now it’s just him and Keith. By themselves. Alone. He straightens his back and clears his throat, just to give him some respite from the downright weird look Keith’s shooting him.

 

“Keith? Is something wrong?”

 

Keith’s features soften, as if he hadn’t been aware of just how intense his gaze was. “Uh…no. I was just wondering about something.”

 

Lance hums before settling back into a more comfortable position. He crosses his legs the same way Veronica usually does. She always looks so intimidating when she sits like this, but with his carefree nature he probably comes off less intimidating and more like he’s trying way too hard. “Care to share?”

 

“We’re still hanging out tomorrow…right?”

 

Lance blinks. “Yeah. I mean, we agreed on tomorrow, didn’t we?” He can’t imagine doing it on some other day; at least not after he spent all those torturous hours slaving away with his chores.

 

“We did,” Keith confirms with a nod. “It’s just—if you don’t want to hang out we can just cancel it.”

 

Lance scratches his head. _Keith’s looking forward to it,_ Shiro had said. Well…it certainly doesn’t seem like he’s looking forward to it. “We can cancel if you want to.”

 

“No”—Keith gestures at Lance for emphasis—“I’m fine with whatever you decide.”

 

“So am I.”

 

“But I’m letting _you_ decide. Just tell me what you want to do.”

 

“I told you, I don’t mind if we cancel.” He _would_ mind.

 

Keith groans and grabs at his hair. “Lance, just tell me if we’re hanging out or not.”

 

“Listen,” Lance spins around, mouth pulled in a taut line, “we’re hanging out tomorrow, going on our not-date”—he pauses for a moment, expecting some sort of reaction, but at receiving none he continues—“but if you’ve changed your mind then it’s fine. We can cancel. No hard feelings. I don’t want to force you into anything.”

 

“Force me?” Keith sounds incredulous. “You’re not forcing me. I—I don’t want us to cancel.”

 

“You sure?”

 

Keith nods. “Yeah.”

 

* * *

 

“Ok,” Lance says to himself, whispering under his breath as he smooths down the front of his dark sweater. “It’s go time.” He raises a hand and knocks on the door.

 

He can’t hear a single sound coming from inside, so Lance steps back, worried that maybe he got the time wrong, or that he somehow ended up at the wrong room, or that Keith’s changed his mind about the whole thing—

 

The door opens and Lance jolts in shock. An equally surprised Keith stares right back at him.

 

“Lance.” Keith blinks very slowly, eyebrows almost touching his forehead. “I wasn’t expecting you so soon.”

 

Lance is quick to school his features, flashing a brilliant smile. “Of course I’m going to be early for our not-date. That’s just basic manners.”

 

Keith looks amused. “And if this were a real date?”

 

“Then I’d be here _way_ earlier. It gives off a good impression.”

 

“If you think looking desperate is a good impression then yeah, you’re totally right.”

 

Lance chuckles dryly. “Yeah, yeah. Very funny.” He pauses to sigh before continuing, “I got you something.”

 

Keith watches in confusion as Lance dramatically extends a hand forward. Between his fingers he holds a single flower.

 

“Oh…” Keith plucks it from Lance’s gentle grip, staring at it dumbly. “It’s…a flower.”

 

“Yep,” Lance says with a wink. “If this was a date, you’d get a whole bouquet. But since this _isn’t_ a date, you’ll have to make do with that.” He nods toward the purple flower, still clutched loosely in Keith’s fingers.

 

Lance hadn’t thought that it’d be odd to give Keith a flower. He imagined that, if any sort of reaction would be warranted, it’d be laughter. Or annoyance. Or a weird combination of both. Only now does it occur to him that his gift might just be plain _weird._

 

“I mean—” Lance starts, his palms sweaty as he tries to think of a way to amend the situation. “You don’t have to take it if you don’t want it. I was—I was thinking of giving one to Nadia anyway, so it’s not like it’ll go to waste. But if you want to throw it out that’s cool too! Yeah, you can just—”

 

“It’s nice,” Keith whispers, voice so soft, eyes so warm, that Lance is momentarily shell-shocked. “Thanks.”

 

A beat of silence passes before Lance finally composes himself enough to give a response. “Yeah,” he says, voice strangely warbled. He clears his throat and speaks again. “Don’t mention it.”

 

“Wait here.” Keith turns around and steps back into his room.

 

It takes a lot of self-restraint to keep himself from following after Keith, just to see what he’s doing, but he manages to stay in the hallway, not daring to budge even an inch. When Keith finally returns, the flower is gone.

 

His curiosity must not be hidden as well as he thought it was; Keith is quick to notice Lance glancing pointedly at his now-empty hand.

 

“I put it somewhere safe,” Keith says as he shuts the door behind him. “Don’t worry.”

 

Lance scoffs. “Keith, buddy, I couldn’t care less about what you do with the flower! Keep it, don’t keep it—it’s all good!”

 

“Right,” Keith says, the smallest hint of a smile gracing his features. “So, um…ready to go?”

 

“Oh, sure. But I can wait some more if you want to change.”

 

Keith balks. “Change?” He glances down at his outfit; a simple button-down shirt and a black jacket. “…What’s wrong with what I’m wearing?”

 

Lance brings a hand up to his mouth and pretends to cough, trying his hardest not to laugh. “Nothing! If you aren’t embarrassed by it, then I’m not either!”

 

“Lance,” Keith says in a warning tone.

 

Finally, Lance bursts into laughter. “Relax. I’m just messing with you. You look great.”

 

“Yeah?” Keith runs his hands over his jacket and adjusts the sleeves.

 

“Yep.” Lance starts walking and Keith is quick to fall into step beside him. “Of course, not as great as me.” He winks, relishing when Keith responds with an eye roll.

 

“Where are going?”

 

Lance shushes him. “It’s a secret.”

 

“Lance, just tell me where we’re going.”

 

“And I told you that it’s a secret! You’ll see when we get there.”

 

“Fine,” Keith relents with a huff. “At least tell me _how_ we’ll get there.”

 

“Not to worry, I’ve come prepared.” Fishing around in his pockets, Lance pulls out a key. “I got this from Veronica.”

 

Leaning forward, Keith narrows his eyes as he tries to read the small print on the card attached to the key. Lance can easily pinpoint the exact moment Keith figures out what the key is for; his eyes go comically wide, mouth parted in disbelief.

 

“We’re taking a hoverbike?”

 

“Not just any hoverbike— _Veronica’s_ hoverbike. So we’ll have to be really careful with it.”

 

“I’m surprised she let you borrow it.”

 

The key jingles with every step Lance takes. “ _Borrow_ is a bit of a strong word.”

 

Keith falters for a moment. “Lance, she knows you took it, right?”

 

“Let’s just say that she _will_ know if she sees that it’s missing.”

 

Groaning, Keith runs a hand through his hair. “Seriously?”

 

“It’ll be fine!” Lance insists, twirling the key round and round his finger.

 

Keith sighs and grumbles to himself. Despite his obvious disapproval of their transportation method, he makes no more arguments or comments on the matter. All in all, Lance thinks their not-date is off to a great start.

 

That is, until they reach the hoverbike garage and a whole new problem presents itself.

 

Lance is—not meaning to brag, of course—a pretty decent hoverbike rider. He’s got all the basics down pat and, back in his cadet days, he’d easily blitz through the theoretical exams. But things have changed since then. The Garrison has become a lot more advanced, has made amazing technological feats that he never thought possible. And of course, the hoverbike is no exception; it’s been updated, too.

 

Therein lies Lance’s problem. He looks down at the bike, circles it like a vulture would its prey, and comes to realise he has no clue how to drive this newer model.

 

“Is something wrong?” Keith asks, voice laced with mirth.

 

Lance stiffens. “Nope! No problem!” He puts his left foot up on the bike’s foothold and swings his right foot up and over. Now seated, he takes the key and jams it into what he thinks is the ignition. The key turns. Nothing happens.

 

“Lance,” Keith says, and it sounds suspiciously like he’s about to burst into laughter. “Do you even know how to drive one of those?”

 

“Yes,” Lance quips. “Of course I do.” He takes a good look at the key and tries again. Nothing happens.

 

Blinking furiously, Lance groans in annoyance. “I think it’s broken,” he says, standing up. “Or maybe I took the wrong key—Hey!”

 

The key glints in Keith’s hands, almost as bright as the way his teasing grin shines under the flickering garage lights. “Watch and learn.”

 

Lance crosses his arms. “Fine! Go ahead and try but I’m telling you, it’s not—Oh…”

 

Keith smirks when the bike revs, waking up from its slumber. He leans forward, hands braced on the handles, his eyes alight, and Lance, despite the humiliation simpering beneath his skin, finds that he cannot tear his gaze away.

 

“Well?” Keith says, brushing his bangs away from his face. “Hop on.”

 

The instant Lance takes his position behind Keith, Keith’s already revving the hoverbike, prepared to drive off.

 

“Wait,” Lance says, squirming. “Wait, we forgot helmets—” His sentence is cut off when the bike lurches forward, accelerating madly toward the exit.

 

“Keith!” Lance cries, hands scrambling for some kind of support. He ends up holding onto the edge of his seat. It doesn’t help much. “Slow down!”

 

Keith laughs. “What? Can’t hear you!”

 

The teasing lilt to his voice has Lance thinking otherwise. “Slow down!” He repeats, shouting over the wind whipping at their faces. “You’re going too fast!”

 

Instead of slowing down, Keith glances briefly over his shoulder. “You should hold on tight.”

 

“What?” Lance screeches. “I don’t need to hold on, I’m perfectly—Ah!” He yelps as the hoverbike lurches again, and this time he doesn’t hesitate to lean forward and wrap his arms around Keith’s waist.

 

Suppressing a shudder, Lance hisses in Keith’s ear, “Happy now?”

 

Keith responds with a low chuckle and revs the bike once more.

 

 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> hello everyone!! hope you all enjoyed this chapter and (unlike me) haven't been depressed this past month thanks to s8 :)
> 
> but anyway!!!! thanks for the support and please stay tuned for the next chapter, I promise u it'll be g r e a t


	3. Chapter 3

Lance’s favourite season used to be summer.

 

As a child, there was nothing better than waking up to the bright, warm sun streaking light into his room, speaks of dust dancing lazily in time with the fresh breeze coming in through the window. There was nothing better than running barefoot in the backyard, the smell of freshly cut grass lingering in the air. There was nothing better than swimming in the cool ocean, the sun watching over and kissing his exposed skin.

 

And then Lance went to space and there was no more summer. Even if there was a similar season on some other planet, it was never the same. Regardless of how many planets they went to, how many they saved or scoured for materials, none of them had a sun with kisses as soft or as warm as the one he left behind on Earth. But as time went on and team Voltron went further and further from home, Lance started missing other things as well; picking flower petals out of his hair in spring, the smell of a chilly afternoon in winter, the spiralling leaves of autumn that’d leave burning trails in their wake.

 

Lance doesn’t have a favourite season anymore. Not after experiencing first hand what it’s like to have them all taken away in the blink of an eye. Now he’s just come to appreciate Earth in all its wonders, including the simplest things like watching the sun rise and fall.

 

He’s been looking for the perfect vantage point and, finally spotting it in the distance, he speaks up over the hum of the hoverbike and the wind howling in his ears. “We’re getting off! Pull over!”

 

Keith barely glances back at him before expertly manoeuvring the bike to a stop. To say Lance is relieved is an understatement; Keith might be a great pilot but it’s hard to feel completely safe when you don’t even have a helmet on.

 

Lance disembarks the instant the bike makes contact with the ground, not caring in the least that Keith hasn’t turned it off yet. He shakes his legs out to get rid of any lingering numbness. “Alright! Let’s get this not-date started, shall we?”

 

The bike shuts down with a low hum. It’s strange to look at it without any of its flashy lights streaking down the handlebars and footholds. Keith pulls the key out of the ignition and throws it up in the air. “What are we doing all the way out here?”

 

Lance swipes the key before it comes back down onto Keith’s waiting palm. “We’ll take a walk around, find somewhere nice to sit down.” He tucks the key safely into his pocket, turning on his heel. “And then we’ll relax and enjoy the view.”

 

“The view?”

 

Lance points up at the sky. “We’re going stargazing.”

 

“What?” Keith sputters. His shocked expression morphs into something that teeters close to playful. “The sun hasn’t set yet.”

 

“Correct me if I’m wrong”—Lance beckons for Keith to start following him—“but the sun is a star, isn’t it? So, technically, we _are_ stargazing.”

 

“Right,” Keith says. He’s biting his lip, but a hint of a smile still breaks through. “Whatever you say.”

 

“What? You don’t think this is a nice place for a date?” Lance tries not to sound affronted but he can’t just let Keith inadvertently insult him like this, especially when he really had, at one point, wanted to bring Allura to this same spot.

 

“I—You said this isn’t a date?”

 

“It’s not,” Lance huffs, crossing his arms over his chest. “But you’re forgetting that this was all meant for Allura. She’s never seen Earth before so I thought this would be a good way to show her around a little.”

 

“Oh…yeah, I—I get it.” Keith swallows.

 

They head up a winding path that’s lined with dirt and rocks, climbing up to the top of the cliff. They’re far enough from the Garrison that the desert plains have melted away and turned into something that’s teeming with a bit more life. The ground is still a pale mix of yellow sand and brown dirt, but there are a few trees that stand tall and strong, albeit with sparsely covered branches. It’s not much to look at nature-wise, but the view from the top is breathtaking.

 

“How’d you find this place?” Keith asks. He ducks fast as Lance carelessly pulls a branch to the side and let’s go; it slings past Keith and barely misses his face.

 

“Whoops,” Lance says, laughing at Keith’s glare. “I found this place ages ago when I got lost during a navigation drill—”

 

“You got lost? And you wound up all the way out here?”

 

“We’re not all born experts at reading maps, Keith,” Lance snaps. “Anyway, _yes,_ I got lost. And I started to get worried because I was getting further from the Garrison and I didn’t know where anyone was. Iverson ended up finding me—”

 

Keith winces sympathetically. “Ouch.”

 

“I know,” Lance sighs. He waves a hand dismissively. “But even though he lectured me for, like, ten hours, I thought that it was all worth it. If I never got lost, I wouldn’t have found this place.” He slows his pace, arms outstretched. “You won’t find a view as nice as this one anywhere else.”

 

Keith nods, carefully stepping over a pile of branches. “I’m impressed you’re still able to make your way around.”

 

Just as the words leave Keith’s mouth, Lance trips over a rock. He skids sharply, narrowly keeping himself upright, and let out a nervous laugh as he wipes the sweat gathering at his forehead. “Yeah, sure,” he chirps. “Of course I know my way around here. I came here all the time.”

 

“Yeah?” Keith pulls a face. “I know you’d sneak out with Hunk, but I didn’t think you’d risk coming all the way out here.”

 

“As much as I hate to admit it, you’re right. We didn’t risk coming all the way out here.” Lance purses his lips in thought. His arms swing idly by his side. “Actually, Hunk doesn’t even know about this place. You’re the first person I’ve ever shown it to.”

 

“But then…how could you come here so often? Did you get Veronica to take you?”

 

“Oh, Keith,” Lance says, shaking his head. He sighs, makes sure to be extra dramatic for emphasis. “Think about it. There’s a reason I’d always get the worst marks for navigation drills.”

 

The reward is well worth it; only a few seconds pass before Keith’s mouth parts open in shock. He inhales once, a quick, sharp intake of air that he expels in a long sigh. “You mean that you used to get lost on purpose just to visit this place?”

 

Lance winks. “That’s exactly right.”

 

“That’s…” The tightness around Keith’s mouth transforms into an easy grin. “That’s actually pretty cool.”

 

“It was,” he boasts, chest puffed out in pride.

 

They walk in silence for the rest of the way, broken only when Lance makes an offhand comment about the terrain and when they pass by a rock that’s suspiciously shaped like a cow (“Check it out, Keith! Kaltenecker’s decided to join us!”). It’s worrying that they’ve been walking for so long and still haven’t reached the end of the trail. It used to take Lance a few minutes to make it to the end all by himself. Unless, somehow, he made a slight misjudgment on the way up and maybe, possibly, took a wrong turn somewhere. Which isn’t a big deal. All the paths lead up to the same point anyway. But now it’ll take even longer to get there, and there’s a good chance the sun will already set. Unless—

 

Lance steers away from the path, clearing his throat to get Keith’s attention. “Let’s go this way instead.”

 

Keith pauses abruptly. “Are we lost?”

 

“Nope! Not at all. It’s just—this way is quicker.”

 

“Quicker?” Keith’s eyes flit around anxiously and his feet remain perfectly planted on the ground. “I don’t mind taking the long way.”

 

“Trust me,” Lance’s tone is insistent as he reaches out and grabs onto Keith’s sleeve, tugging him closer, “when I say that this path is better.”

 

“Alright,” Keith says with a sigh. “If you insist.”

 

* * *

 

“Here it is!” Lance kicks up a cloud of dust as he runs forward. “We finally made it!” He twists around, away from the glowing view of the setting sun toward Keith, who’s still lagging a few metres behind. “What did I tell you? It’s nice, huh?”

 

Keith comes to a stop and takes a moment to look around. His eyes drift over to the view of the sun, then to the sky, and finally to Lance. “You were right. It _is_ nice.”

 

Lance glides his shoe over a spot on the ground, clearing it of any stray rocks. He sits down and shimmies backward so he’s not too close to the edge, and pats the spot next to him. “Take a seat.”

 

From up here, they have a perfect view. Not only can they see the sun and sky in all their glory, but also the mountains in the far off distance and, if they squint a little, the unmistakable silhouette of the Garrison. It almost feels like Lance is a young cadet again, skipping class to get some time to himself.

 

A shadow falls over him, blocking out the sun’s warmth. Keith stands in front of him, his crossed arms and upturned chin making him seem intimidating, but there is a nervous quality underneath his stoic mask that doesn’t go unnoticed.

 

Lance smiles reassuringly and pats the spot next to him again, channelling as much vigour into the action as possible. “What are you waiting for? Sit down. You’re blocking the view.”

 

“There’s something I need to tell you.”

 

“Alright.” Lance raises a brow, impatient. “But at least sit down first.”

 

Keith shifts, hesitant, but finally sits down. “I…I just…”

 

“Yeah?” Lance leans in. “What’s up?”

 

“I…uh…” Keith coughs into his fist. “I wanted to apologise.”

 

Lance’s features soften. “We’ve been over this. I told you, it’s not your fault that Allura and I broke up.”

 

“No,” Keith says with a violent shake of his head. Lance is prepared to keep arguing with him but stops when Keith continues. “That’s not it. Do you remember when we went on that game show?”

 

Lance’s whole body is encased in stone. He’s completely still yet somehow hyperaware of every single movement he makes, no matter how minute. Every twitch of the muscles in his face, the heaviness around his mouth and eyes, the sheer strength it takes to build a smile out of a hammering heart and collapsing lungs.

 

“Of course,” he forces out.

 

“And…do you remember what I said? When we had to choose someone to leave and you chose me…Do you remember?”

 

Lance grins lightly but cannot keep the chill from his voice. “You mean when you said you wouldn’t want to be stuck with me for eternity? How could I forget?”

 

Keith’s gone tense, his arms stiff, fingers curling into the dirt beneath him. He doesn’t flinch back at Lance’s tone, doesn’t wince or grimace. Instead his jaw is set firm, teeth grinding, shoulders rigid.

 

It’s a familiar pose; Lance used to brace himself just like that when he was a child wading in the ocean, preparing for the onslaught of a cold wave to knock him off the ground. He’d stand with feet spread apart, his right foot further back, wiggling until the tips of his toes were buried in the sand. He’d gotten used to the waves after a while, was strong enough to keep himself upright, to smile and laugh as if the cold hadn’t seeped a little too close to his heart. He’d gotten used to it even when the waves of the ocean turned into harsh words from those he trusted most.

 

“I’m sorry,” Keith says. His voice cracks. “I didn’t mean what I said.”

 

Lance knows that already—on some level, at least. But it had still rubbed him the wrong way. They’d been through so much as Paladins—as friends?—and that was the thanks he got? An offhanded insult? And not just from Keith, but from…well, from practically _everyone_. He was mad about it for a while. Upset. Hurt. But it was easy to ignore it, to just brush it aside as friendly banter (even though it _wasn’t_ ), to push it out of his mind and focus on something more important.

 

He sighs. “It’s ok. I’m not mad at you or anything, so you can stop looking at me like that.”

 

Somehow, that just makes Keith look even guiltier. “No, it’s not ok. You said all those nice things about me and I—I don’t know. I was overwhelmed and worried but then I said all the wrong things.”

 

“Well,” Lance starts, crossing and uncrossing his outstretched legs. He tilts his head back and squints at the sky. “It was kind of a crappy thing to say.”

 

“I’m sorry,” Keith says again, earnest. “I’m sorry that I hurt you.”

 

Lance goes still all over again. “Don’t worry about. That stuff is all in the past. I mean, look at us right now.” He laughs softly. “It might not be eternity, but you’re stuck with me.”

 

He hopes Keith’s guilt-stricken face will melt away into something happier, but it doesn’t. Not after five seconds of silence, not after ten, and not even after half a minute. So, Lance does the only thing he can think of. He punches Keith in the arm.

 

Keith snaps out of his daze, hand flying up automatically to touch the spot Lance’s fist had just been in contact with. The punch doesn’t hurt—Lance made sure to use enough force to stun but not enough to leave a bruise.

 

Still, Keith is not happy about it. “What was that for?” He asks, affronted.

 

Lance makes a weird sound, something caught between a scoff and a bark of laughter. “Come on, man. Don’t beat yourself up over this. I’m fine!” He gestures to himself for emphasis. “I’m tougher than I look. Besides, it’s not like I didn’t hurt you either, so we can call it even.”

 

Keith’s frown deepens. “What are you talking about?”

 

“You know,” Lance prompts. “When we were stuck in space. And I told you that you shouldn’t have come back.”

 

The confusion swimming in Keith’s eyes gives way to clarity. “Oh, right.”

 

“None of us meant any of the things we said to each other when we were out there. But that’s what happens when things get heated. Sometimes you end up hurting the people you care about most, even if that’s the last thing you’d ever want to do. So, I’m sorry too.”

 

“Yeah.” Finally, he’s smiling again. “Thanks, Lance.”

 

“You know that I missed you when you were gone,” Lance says, without missing a beat. “We _all_ missed you. We’re glad you came back.” He sets a hand on Keith’s shoulder and squeezes.

 

Keith inhales sharply. “I missed you, too.”

 

“There were even times I wished you never left.” Lance winces as he realises how selfish that sounds. “Just—‘cause it felt weird without you around, you know? Obviously it’s good that you left because you got to find your mother and go on a bunch of cool missions, but if you could’ve done all that by staying with us then…I think I’d have liked that.”

 

“Honestly?” Keith frowns a little. “There were a lot of times where I’d wish the same thing.”

 

Lance blinks back his shock. “Really?”

 

“Yeah.”

 

It’s a bittersweet revelation.

 

“I don’t even get why you left in the first place.” Lance laughs, trying to make the conversation a bit lighter.

 

Keith stares off into the distance. Clouds loom overhead, casting shadows on his face. “It’s…complicated. There were some things I needed to sort out.”

 

“That’s it? Come on. There’s gotta be more to it.”

 

A wisp of regret flickers across Keith’s face, so fast that Lance isn’t sure it was there at all. “I thought if I left that—that something would sort itself out. But since I’ve come back, I realised that it hasn’t. Maybe if I stayed then things would be different now.”

 

There’s something about his tone of voice that has alarms blaring in Lance’s head. He’s brought back to a distant memory of standing in Keith’s room, arms wrapped around himself, the crushing weight of his insecurities which still hasn’t gotten any lighter.

 

“Well…maybe it was never up to you to fix it.”Before Keith can even think of a response—let alone say it—Lance waves a hand through the air, as if that action alone is enough to steer the conversation away to a topic that doesn’t make him want to crawl under a rock. “Let’s forget about all of that,” he says, a tinge of desperation in his voice. “I didn’t bring us here just for us to get all bummed out.”

 

“Right.” Keith nods, hand winding up to scratch the back of his neck. “But uh…I was the one to bring us here. Not you.”

 

Lance places a hand over his chest and gasps. “What? This was literally my idea. You didn't even know about this place!”

 

“Perhaps.” Keith grins slyly, the edges of his mouth glinting in the light. “But I drove, didn’t I?”

 

“Perhaps,” Lance parrots, tongue poking out. “But my point still stands.”

 

Keith brings a hand to his face and snickers. “Whatever you say.”

 

“Be quiet.” Lance shushes him with a whisper. “I’m trying to watch the sunset.”

 

There’s only a beat of silence before Keith bursts out laughing. “It’s not a TV show. You don’t need silence to watch the sunset.”

 

“But I’m trying to concentrate!”

 

“On what?”

 

On embedding this picturesque scene into his mind forever. On memorising everything, from the sun’s position to the number of clouds floating in the distance. Because Lance took the sun and sky for granted once in his life already. He won’t do it again.

 

“Shut up,” Lance says with a laugh. Their arms jostle as he nudges Keith in the side.

 

They sit together in silence, gazing out at the setting sun. The sky is painted in hues of soft blue and striking red, and where the edge of the sun meets the corners of the sky the two colours combine into a lovely purple. It’s a sight that Lance has longed to see for years. Something so simple, yet it’s enough to almost bring him to tears.

 

“It’s beautiful,” he says, entirely mesmerised, completely breathless. “Isn’t it?”

 

There’s a long pause before Keith finally answers. “Yeah. It is.”

 

When Lance looks over at him, he finds Keith looking right back. He blinks slowly and chuckles. “You’re not looking at the sun.”

 

And then, Keith smiles. It isn’t a broad smile; there are no sharp teeth, no crinkle in the corner of his eyes. But framed by the sun’s glow, it’s easily the most genuine smile Lance has seen from him. “I’m not?”

 

The warmth on his cheeks, Lance thinks, isn’t entirely from the sun anymore.

 

* * *

 

Lance gets up with a groan and starts the arduous process of dusting his pants clear of dirt. The sun has already dipped well below the horizon, the moon peeking out shyly through a haze of clouds.

 

“We should head back.” He regrets not bringing a jacket; if he had one with him, he could’ve laid it on the ground and sat on it instead of getting his pants all dirty. “Keith? You listening?”

 

Keith’s still seated, gaze fixed on something far off in the distance. It’s not until Lance steps around him and waves a hand in front of his face that he snaps out of it. “Huh?”

 

“I said,” Lance huffs, “that we should head back. It’s getting late.” He holds a hand out.

 

Keith hesitates, his own hand stuck in mid-air. “It’s not _that_ late.”

 

Lance ends up meeting him halfway, fingers closing around Keith’s forearm, and pulls him up to his feet. “Yeah, I know. But there’s not much else to do around here.”The sky, once a canvas of striking blues and reds, has now melded into darkness. A few stars shine from above, watched over by the bright moon. “Might as well go back to the Garrison.”

 

“Is this all you had planned?”

 

Lance bristles at the question. It doesn’t even make sense for him to be so offended by it—this isn’t an actual date or anything. But still, it did require some thinking on his part. He had to borrow Veronica’s hoverbike for crying out loud, and that took a _lot_ of planning.

 

“Sorry if you were expecting something better,” he says, voice laced with sarcasm. “I don’t know if you’ve noticed but the whole planet is kind of recovering from an alien invasion, so there’s not much to do.”

 

“That’s—” Keith stutters, “—that’s not what I meant. I was just wondering if this is all you would’ve done if you’d come here with Allura.”

 

“Oh,” Lance says. He taps his foot in thought. “Yeah, I guess? I know it’s kind of lame but—”

 

“It’s not,” Keith interrupts firmly. “It’s not lame. Allura would’ve liked it.”

 

Lance laughs to himself, shaking his head. “You really think so?” At Keith’s insistent nod, he can’t help but smile.

 

“Do you think,” Keith starts, tongue jutting out to lick his dry lips, “we can take a look down there?” From way up here, they have an ample view of the area, including the small city nearby. Lance has been to the city countless times, usually with Hunk well past curfew.

 

”Keith, there’s nothing down there. It’s still being repaired.”

 

Instead of being reasonable and rational about it, Keith stares at him long and hard, face blank and arms crossed. “We can still take a look.”

 

“Alright.” Lance shrugs. He digs around his pocket and pulls out the key to the hoverbike, tossing it over to Keith with a smirk. “Lead the way.”

 

* * *

 

It’s disarming to see a place that was once thriving, a constant mass of movement and noise, be reduced to nothing but rubble. Lance carries on as best he can, distracts himself by kicking small pebbles out of his way, but it doesn’t change that all of his favourite spots—the ice-cream parlour around the corner, the arcade, the mall on the other end of the city—are now so foreign. Unrecognisable.

 

The only source of light comes from the moon and the few flickering street lights that, amazingly enough, are still operable. Garrison issued vehicles litter the streets, their orange and white coated paint a harsh contrast with the otherwise dark and drab buildings (well, what’s left of the buildings). Many of the streets have been sectioned off, temporary signs and fences put up—once again, all Garrison issued—to keep people away while repairs are being made and the city being rebuilt.

 

“Look,” Keith says. “It’s the market.” He points to the end of the road.

 

The market is probably the only thing that’s somehow managed to survive with minimal damage. Lance recalls browsing through the stalls with Hunk, trying to charm his way into getting a discount, stocking up on cool souvenirs to send to Nadia and Sylvio for their birthdays. He hasn’t been to the market post-Galra invasion; it just wouldn’t be the same as before.

 

“It’s closed,” Lance sighs, more relieved than upset. He meanders over to a large, empty parking lot and sits down on the curb. He squints at the grocery store in front of him, trying to remember its name. The sign is missing, and half of the large block letters that spell out the store’s name have fallen off.

 

Keith sits down next to him. “Tired?”

 

Lance smiles lazily. “A little.” The stars twinkle above him and he nudges Keith. “Happy now? We’re stargazing for real this time.”

 

Keith bites back a laugh. “When did I say I _wasn’t_ happy?”

 

“ _The sun hasn’t set yet,”_ Lance mocks, pulling a face—Keith’s just too easy to imitate sometimes. “The stars are always there, you know. Even if we can’t see them.”

 

“Of course I know.” Keith snaps, rolling his eyes.

 

“Isn’t it weird,” Lance starts with a murmur, “how we’ve seen so many stars and galaxies, but I still think this view is the most beautiful?”

 

Keith shakes his head slowly, eyes fixed on the sky. “It’s not weird. I feel the same way.”

 

“Maybe we’re just used to it.”

 

“Maybe,” Keith whispers.

 

Lance falls on his back, shoulder blades rubbing uncomfortably on the hard concrete. He raises a hand up, toward the sky and stars and moon. He used to sleep at night and dream of touching them, reaching out and cradling the moon, running his fingers over swirling galaxies. But now there are flecks of stardust embedded in the lines of his palms, a reminder he’ll carry with him forever, that at one point in his life he _had_ been close enough to touch them.

 

He closes his eyes for a moment only to be startled by something dropping on the tip of his nose. Something small and feather light, a tiny prick, a slight tap. He feels it again, once on each cheek and then on his chin. That’s when he notices the dark clouds.

 

“Is it raining?” Keith asks, palm turned up.

 

But Lance cannot hear. The blood gushes in his ears, drowning out everything around him, from Keith’s voice to the slight breeze whispering past his ear. He hears nothing except for the unmistakable pitter-patter of raindrops hitting the ground, feels nothing but their welcoming touch on his skin.

 

“It’s raining…” Lance says in awe. “It’s raining!”

 

Then he’s up on his feet, arms outstretched for an embrace. As if to answer his call, the rain gets heavier until it starts to seep into his clothes. Lance doesn’t care—doesn’t even notice. Because finally, it feels like home again.

 

Lance whoops in delight, spins round and round, trying to catch every single droplet before it hits the ground. The more excited he gets, the louder he laughs in delight, the more the rain pours. It’s the first time it’s rained since he’s returned to Earth, and he can’t help but think it’s some sort of message. _Welcome home_ , the Earth says. _I’ve missed you._

 

And _god_ has Lance missed it, too. Somewhere in the midst of his running and twirling and dancing in the rain he’s shocked to realise that he’s started to cry. But the rain washes all his tears away, as comforting as his mother’s touch.

 

He’s out of breath when he finally comes to a stop. He runs a hand through his wet hair, shifts his fringe out of his eyes. The world around him comes back into focus, but he pays no mind to the broken buildings and stores, ignores the remnants of destruction. Instead, he looks at Keith and—

 

Lance pauses, head tilted. Keith’s staring at him with a gaze that’s just… _odd._ It’s the same way his parents had stared at each other in their family portrait. The same way he’d seen Luis stare at his girlfriend when they started dating. It’s a puzzling gaze made up of soft eyes and a softer smile. It’s…it’s _beautiful._

 

Still catching his breath, Lance chuckles lowly. “What’s with the look?”

 

“What look?”

 

Lance walks over to Keith like a man possessed, enthralled at how Keith follows his every single movement. He takes Keith’s hands and pulls him to his feet.

 

“Dance with me,” he says.

 

Finally, Keith falters, and confusion clouds his eyes. His brow pinches. “I—I don’t know how to—”

 

Lance shakes his head, specks of water flying off of his drenched hair. He and Keith are completely soaked. Their clothes cling to them like a second layer of skin.

 

“That doesn’t matter. Dance with me.”

 

“Lance, wait—”

 

Lance tugs him closer until he can feel Keith’s radiating warmth. One hand settles on Keith’s shoulder while the other wraps around his hand, fingers intertwined. They move together, feet sliding on slick ground and through splotches of puddles. Their legs get tangled and Keith stumbles along, stepping on Lance’s feet too often to count. It takes a while but they finally find a semblance of synchronisation, the moves already becoming repetitive and easy as they fall into rhythm.

 

Laughter mingles with the rain as if it’s their own private song. Lance beams as he holds his arm up and Keith easily, wordlessly, twirls in place. Then Lance steps forward but before Keith can follow by stepping back, he tightens his hold and dips him. They pause for a moment, Lance winking while Keith stares at him in shock.

 

Lance pulls him back up but neither of them dares to move. They’re standing so close that their breaths mingle in the space between them. Keith’s eyes are as bright as the moon overhead and when he blinks they glisten and sparkle like stars. Lance gets lost in those eyes, in that soft, half-lidded gaze. His mind is fuzzy and muted, his body acts on its own accord. He inches closer, mesmerised by all the things about Keith he’s never noticed. The length of his eyelashes. The curve of his nose. His smooth skin. His soft, supple lips.

 

Lance moves closer. Keith follows. He moves closer again. Keith still follows. The minuscule distance between them shrinks and shrinks, until the tips of their noses barely touch.

 

“If this was a date,” Lance whispers, “I’d kiss you right now.”

 

Wait. Oh god. _Oh god._

 

_What is he doing?_

 

Lance comes to all at once. The haze in his mind lifts, the dreamy sheen over his eyes dissipates. He pulls back with a start, steps away from Keith and into the cold. His heart hammers away and, if not for the rain, he’d be covered in sweat. He opens his mouth to say something—anything—but he’s at a complete loss.

 

He almost kissed Keith. _He almost kissed Keith._ What was he thinking?!

 

“I—uh…” Lance bites his lip and shoves his hands in his pockets. He doesn’t dare look at Keith but he can feel the pricks of what is most likely his glare. He suddenly feels too heavy, and not just because of his damp clothes. “Um…we should head back now.”

 

The rain starts to let up, but Lance still can’t hear Keith’s response. He gulps and braces himself for the worst. He’s not sure what he expects to see.

 

It definitely isn’t this.

 

Keith’s face angles down, body turned away, arms folded over his chest. His shoulders droop and Lance spends ages trying to see the invisible weight that’s suddenly settled on them. When he stands like this, Keith looks so small.

 

“Keith?” Lance tries again. “Buddy? I said we should head back now.”

 

“Yeah,” Keith says. “I heard.”

 

The silence as they head back to the hoverbike is louder than the rain. It rings in Lance’s ears, a horrible screech that’ll haunt him for days to come.

 

* * *

 

When they finally reach the Garrison, the rain has completely stopped. Lance feels gross as he gets off the bike, his clothes dragging awkwardly across his skin as he moves. He clears his throat and pretends to be absolutely fascinated by a stain on the ground when a hand appears in his peripheral.

 

“Here,” Keith says. “Your key.”

 

Lance takes it and shoves it in his pocket, nodding in thanks. “Keith…listen—”

 

“Thanks for today.”

 

“Huh?” Lance sputters.

 

“I had fun. It was nice to hang out with you.” Keith’s smile hangs on by a thread.

 

“Yeah, I had fun, too,” Lance says with a chuckle. “I guess hanging with you isn’t as bad as I thought, Mullet.” That manages to work. Keith’s smile is a bit more genuine. “Well…I’ll see you later.”

 

“Yeah,” Keith says, turning around. “See you.”

 

“Make sure to change out of those clothes.” Lance idly taps the tip of his shoe on the ground. “Don’t want to get sick.”

 

“Right.” Keith nods. “Sleep well, Lance.”

 

Lance doesn’t dare move until Keith’s out of sight. Once he’s gone and the risk of bumping into him in the hallway is reduced to practically zero, Lance sighs and walks out of the garage. His footsteps leave behind trails of water so he opts to walk around in his socks—thanks to his waterproof shoes, they’re considerably drier than the rest of him.

 

He doesn’t bother returning Veronica’s key tonight; he’ll deal with that nightmare tomorrow. Once he’s finally safe in his room, he pries his clothes off and towels himself dry before dressing in pyjamas and falling face first on his bed, not bothering to shower the dirt and rainwater off of him. He tosses and turns, trying to get comfortable, but he’s restless and fitful.

 

That night, he falls asleep to the memory of rainfall and dancing and stupid mistakes.

 

That night, he falls asleep to the faint, haunting realisation that maybe, on some level, he doesn’t regret what he did. Because maybe there’s a tiny chance that he _had_ wanted to go through with the kiss.

 

* * *

 

Lance has always been a master of stealth. Nothing ever goes unnoticed by him, no-one can slip by without his knowing. Rather, _he’s_ the one that sneaks past others, as silent as a shadow. He is an enigma, a mystery that no one can ever—

 

“Oh, hey Lance. How’s it going?”

 

Lance yelps as a hand falls on his shoulder. It takes a lot of effort to keep his body from shaking like a leaf. “Hunk! Don’t scare me like that!”

 

“Sorry!” Hunk raises his hands up in surrender. He blinks and peeks over Lance’s shoulder. “What are you looking at?”

 

“Nothing!” Lance snaps. He purposely leans against the wall, a foot propped up behind it, arms crossed, feigning disinterest, as if he hadn’t just been caught looking suspiciously into the cafeteria. “I’m just chilling.”

 

“Sure.” Hunk chuckles. “Come on, tell me the truth. You know I’ll figure it out soon enough either way.”

 

“I’m telling you, there’s nothing to figure out. Is it illegal for a guy to just relax and—” His joints lock up when the one person he’s been dreading to meet appears a few feet away, leaving the cafeteria.

 

“Hey, is that Ke—mmph!”

 

“Shh!” Lance forces himself to move and drags Hunk into a corner, a hand over his mouth. “Be quiet!”

 

Hunk breaks from his hold with a gasp and whirls around. “Lance. Buddy. What the heck was up with that?”

 

“Look,” Lance sighs. Now that the adrenaline has started to ebb away, he feels cold and worn out. “I’ll explain later. Let’s find somewhere to talk first.”

 

Hunk’s mouth twitches, his stern facade cracking. “Alright,” he relents. “Let’s go.”

 

* * *

 

Even seated in the cafeteria, Lance can’t bring himself to relax. He knows he should calm down—he’d seen Keith leave a few minutes ago and there’s no way he’d come back so soon—but he can’t help it. His whole body is prepped for a disaster.

 

“Now tell me what you were doing back here,” Hunk says through a mouthful of scrambled eggs.

 

Lance buries his face in his hands and sighs. He’s so tired that he can’t even sit upright and soon enough he’s slumped over the table. His eyes burn from lack of sleep and his stomach stings with shame.

 

“Hunk, I did something horrible yesterday.”

 

Hunk stops chewing. “You’re probably overreacting. I’m sure it’s not that bad.”

 

“Yeah, it’s not that bad. It’s _worse._ ”

 

“I can’t help you if you don’t tell me what happened.” Hunk rolls his eyes and takes another bite of his eggs. “Come on, just tell me. I promise I won’t laugh.”

 

Lance wearily lifts his head. He doesn’t move his hands from his face but he does split his fingers aside, his bleary eyes peeking out from between them. He needs to be honest. He needs to get it over with.

 

“I almost kissed Keith.”

 

“You— _What?”_ Hunk coughs hysterically, tearing up as he chokes on his food. He thumps his chest while Lance offers him a glass of water.

 

After taking a few large gulps Hunk clears his throat and pushes his food aside. “You almost kissed him?”

 

“I know,” Lance wails. His forehead lands on the table with a loud _thunk_. “This is so bad. I screwed up big time.”

 

“Wait, wait, back up a little. How did it happen?”

 

Lance groans. He hates having to relive it. “Remember how I spent all day cleaning on Thursday? That’s because Keith and I made plans to hang out on Friday.”

 

“Ok,” Hunk says with a nod. “And you guys were just hanging out, or was this a—?”

 

“No!” Lance cuts in. “It wasn’t a date! It was two guys hanging out. As friends. That’s it! No date!”

 

“Huh. Ok, sure, makes sense. So you were hanging out and…?”

 

“I don’t know,” Lance whines. He bangs his head against the table a few more times for good measure. “I just got lost in the moment.”

 

“I’m afraid I’ll need more details,” Hunk chides.

 

“Ugh, fine!” Lance springs up in his chair, his forehead throbbing with pain. “We were near the market, sitting in a parking lot. And it was raining and—”

 

“Oh my god, _it was raining?”_

 

Lance shoots him a glare. “I know what you’re going to say, but I’m warning you right now—”

 

“What? What was I going to say?” Hunk smiles teasingly. “That it’s romantic?”

 

Lance’s face heats up. His mouth tightens. “It wasn’t! Just—Just let me finish, ok? It was raining and it just…I don’t know, it just happened! I mean, we were dancing and—”

 

“ _Oh my god—”_

 

“It wasn’t romantic!” Lance protests with a whine, banging his hands on the table. “I just got carried away and it happened.”

 

“Wow.” Hunk whistles lowly. “That’s why you were avoiding Keith, huh?”

 

“Duh! What else am I supposed to do? He hates me now.”

 

“Hey!” Hunk’s grip on Lance’s shoulders is as strong as steel. “Don’t say that! He doesn’t hate you. Like, Keith’s hotheaded and it’s easy to annoy him, but I think it’d take _way_ more for him to actually hate you.”

 

“You don’t get it…” Lance bites his lip and shakes his head.

 

The worries had been building up in him ever since he got back to his room last night and they still won’t let up. His chest is heavy at the thought of having to go through the rest of his days like this, awkwardly steering away from Keith whenever he bumps into him, always being on alert so he can run away at a moment’s notice.

 

“You’re the one that doesn’t get it,” Hunk counters gently. “I can’t speak on his behalf, but I really don’t think he’s as upset over this as you think he is.” He leans back and considers Lance for a moment. “Actually, you’re probably the only one making a big deal out of it.”

 

“But it is a big deal! Hunk, buddy, pal, are you forgetting that Keith likes Griffin? He’s probably weirded out that I…that I…”

 

“Almost kissed him?”

 

“Yes.” Lance runs his hands over his uniform, arms jittery.

 

Hunk hums and leans forward, propping his head on his hand. “You don’t know that for sure. Did he look weirded out? Did he try to kiss you too?”

 

Lance shoots him a withering glare. “I don’t like all these questions.”

 

“I’m just trying to help!”

 

Lance grits his teeth, nails digging into his palms. He wishes he’d gotten something to eat but he hadn’t been hungry. He’s still not hungry, and the thought of eating makes his stomach twist more than it already is, but if he had some food he’d at least have a distraction.

 

He still sees it in the back of his mind, the image so vivid, so ingrained, that if he blinks for a second too long it feels like he’s out in the rain all over again. The way he’d inched closer, the way Keith had instantly followed. Lance shakes his head roughly to snap out of it, hoping Hunk won’t see the red tinge to his burning ears.

 

“He didn’t. I was the one that initiated it.”

 

Hunk purses his lips in thought. “Who was the one that stopped it?”

 

“…Me.”

 

Hunk pounds his fist on the table. “See? You stopped it before Keith did!”

 

“So? If I hadn’t stopped it he would’ve!”

 

“You sure about that? ‘Cause it sounds like maybe Keith wanted you to kiss him.”

 

Lance’s heart bursts into a sprint. His pulse thrums through his entire body. Sure, he had thought to himself that he had, momentarily, fleetingly, _wanted_ to kiss Keith, but he was just lost in the moment! It didn’t mean anything! But he refused to entertain the thought of Keith wanting to kiss _him._ Playing with fire is risky business, and he’s just not ready to deal with that particular flame.

 

“Can we talk about something else?” Lance begs, meek.

 

Hunk deflates a little but nods. “Sure. But Lance, you really can’t just go around avoiding Keith forever.”

 

“Sure I can!” Lance quips. “I’m the master of avoiding people! Remember how often Iverson would bust me for something?”

 

Hunk frowns. “That doesn’t really prove your point.”

 

“Yes, but remember all the times I _had_ managed to get away? I’m a total master of deception.”

 

Hunk deadpans. “Lance, I seriously think you should just—”

 

“Relax, ok?” Lance sighs. He’s always hated it when people nag him. “I’ll figure it out eventually. But right now I just don’t want to think about it.”

 

“Fine,” Hunk murmurs. He picks up his fork and pokes at his eggs. “But I’m telling you, avoiding Keith is just going to make things worse.”

 

With a cry of despair, Lance hits his head on the table again. Hunk rubs comforting circles on his back, but instead of being comforted Lance ends up feeling even more pathetic.

 

Just what has he gotten himself into?

 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> fun fact: the almost kiss scene is what gave me the idea for this entire fic so there u go (・ωｰ)～☆
> 
> anyhow, I had a lot of fun writing this chapter so I hope you guys liked it! 
> 
> also if anyone is curious, I didn't get the whole sunset idea from s8-- I thought of the date scene before it came out! (so you can imagine how shocked I was when we got an actual canon sunset gazing scene asgdjjkd)


End file.
